Suffer my Children
by sylphides
Summary: What will it take for Sirius Black to become an adult? What must happen for Severus Snape to break from the fetters of his life? In the summer before seventh year, both boys may just find out those answers. AU fic.
1. A Year Without Summer

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor ever will possess, the rights to Harry Potter.**

**Warnings: Before you begin reading this story, there are certain things you should be aware of. First, this story is rated M because of some violence as well as inferred nonconsensual acts. There is no actual description nor scenes, but there will be references to it and some discussion amongst the characters. If you are not willing or might be triggered by a mention or implied reference to such events, please do not continue reading. Thank you. Also, this will NOT be SS/SB. No romance there.**

_"But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto Me: for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven." Luke 18:16_

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Sirius Black groaned aloud in dismay once more. There was no one to hear him—he was in his bedroom, and he _was _Black enough to have warded his room against eavesdroppers and snoopers, including his own family, with spells not exactly condoned by the Ministry. Sitting back up on his bed, back settling comfortably on the headboard, Sirius mentally listed all the things he would have liked to say or do to his family and all Purebloods at the moment. Around 103, a nasty little number involving castration for the males and some nasty rashes in unmentionable places for the females, Sirius' all-consuming anger subsided, leaving him with only the bitter gall of defeat stagnant on his tongue. There was nothing he could do. Nothing. And if it was one thing Sirius Black hated, it was being helpless.

Just this morning he'd been laughing, joking cheerfully with his best friends, and making plans to escape his stifling house for the majority of the summer to spend time at the Potter's residence just like every other summer since his second year of Hogwarts. Just this morning he'd been enthusiastic for the summer to start—if not for his return to a home he dreaded, then for the escapades he would inevitably get into with James and Remus. Now—well, now, he was certainly "home sweet home", and the summer after his sixth year of Hogwarts looked like it would be the blackest of them all, no pun intended.

When he had first been invited to James' home to stay for most of the summer after their second year, he'd been elated. Remus and Peter had also been invited, and together, they'd wrought havoc wherever they went. The fun had only continued third and fourth year, but last summer—the summer after fifth year—Peter had not been there. Instead, there was a timid brown owl bearing a bland message from his mother, stating that Peter was going to be staying at the Malfoy estates in France for the summer instead, but sent his regrets. They'd all been puzzled and slightly betrayed as well, of course. Peter had never even _mentioned _other plans, and he certainly wasn't on good terms with Malfoy. _Malfoy, _of all people! But when they had told Mrs. and Mr. Potter, both of them had abruptly gone all queer and pale as if something was wrong.

None of them had been told what the matter was, but Mrs. Potter—in the scary-stern motherly way of hers, had made it forcefully known that Peter was not at fault for breaking a sacred summer tradition, and then they _would _refrain from asking him what he was doing at Malfoy's French properties or what had taken place there. It had soured their summer in a way. Peter was as quiet as the rat he'd only recently conquered as his Animagus form, but he was an integral part of the Marauders, the shadow that occasionally surprised them all with an ironic quip or jab designed to deflate their egos and keep them in perspective. He _belonged _in their group, the same way Remus and his reliable steadiness, James and his arrogant charm, and Sirius with his mischievous nature contributed to the four-way friendship. Naturally, they'd thrown a couple inquiries his way when school began again.

Okay, maybe it was more like a lot of questions. All in curious fun, of course.

Okay, maybe it had a bit of an interrogation style feel to it.

But that was beside the point. Peter had paled, begun to tremble, and clammed up. When his tremors became so pronounced that James had to run to get Madame Pomfrey, they had known something was…off. And it had only been confirmed when Pomfrey arrived, breathless, took one look at Peter now convulsing on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, and let a startling expletive escape her lips. Peter spent a week in the Infirmary, recovering from, of all things, a seizure coupled with a nervous breakdown, and Pomfrey had threatened the Marauders and anyone else with instant death if they so much as asked about Peter's summer again. They'd taken the hint, and things had quickly gone back to normal—well, not quite. Sirius didn't understand what had made Peter so scared that summer he spent in France, but the entire year Peter had become withdrawn and moody, where once he had been a happy-go-lucky friend.

Now, Sirius had an inkling perhaps of what Peter had gone through. Because his own parents—_especially _his mother—was going to be doing the same thing to him. A summer in France, at the Malfoy estates—complete with lessons on how to make your bloodline proud and socializing and making connections with other Purebloods. _Merlin! _

Sirius wondered what it would be like. It had to have some sort of Dark Arts tied to it, since Peter had come back so terrified. But Peter had always been a nervous chap, not exactly cowardly but not one to charge into anything dangerous. _Great. Just what I need. A summer of nothing but rich, snobby Purebloods and their rich, snobby children. _Mother had said—no, _screamed—_at him for what seemed hours, ranting about how if it had been up to her, he would have been going to these Summer Gatherings since childhood.

_"But no, your father pleaded with me to wait until you were older. This is your last summer with us before you go off as an adult, and I will not have you disgracing the Black name as you have been doing! It is excusable in a child, but I refuse to endure it when you are clearly almost of age and an adult. You have no choice. Either you go, or I will drag you there by your absurd hair, and chain you to the property. Do you understand me?"_

_ "Walburga, perhaps you are being too harsh—"_

_ "Oh, do shut up, Orion. You are close to being a disgrace to your own name as well. When I married into the Black family, I did not intend for it to fall into the mud the way you and Sirius have been trampling it. I have bowed to your wishes. Regulus will not attend until the summer before his seventh year as well. But Sirius will go and make us proud, if it's the last thing I do!"_

_ "I'm not going, Mother. I'm going to be staying at James' home—you know, like _every other_ summer?"_

_ The voice dropped low then, and into the hiss that struck fear into the Black men: it was the tone Walburga Black used very rarely. It always signaled your choice of obedience or excruciating pain. "You will be going to Chateau Malfoy in a week, and you will be conducting yourself with proper Pureblood manners. Pack what you wish to take with you. If you are not ready to leave in a week, you will find the Potter residence one less in number to greet you. After all, your little friend—the shabby half-blood—is quite a menace to society, the way he is." _

_ Sirius couldn't breathe. How had his mother found out about Remus? Walburga's eyes shone manically. "Oh darling, did you think that I would neglect to research the backgrounds of anyone connected to my wayward son? The Black name and influence still holds much influence within the Ministry, and it was not so hard to coax your dirty little mongrel's secret from the man in charge of Werewolf Regulation. Perhaps…" her tone became almost loving, lighthearted in a way that made Sirius shiver and his father take a hasty step back. "Perhaps I could let him live, and merely let something slip by accident at my next encounter with the Minister, or one of the students' parents. They are so concerned for the safety of their children, and I for one would not want a mangy creature and devourer of humans loose in a school full of innocent children. Nor would I want a Headmaster who willingly let one such animal in to threaten the health and safety of hundreds. No, that would never do at all."_

_ And so, it came to be that Sirius Black was sullenly packed and waiting his Portkey for France in three days. _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The sickening lurch of Portkey travel, along with the tumult his stomach was already in from the circumstances of his visit and his mother's threats to his friend and the Headmaster made for a very green-faced boy by the time he had arrived at the impressive front entrance to _Chateau Malfoy. _A house-elf ushered him in, transporting his trunk ahead of them as he was taken through miles of gleaming marble hallways and imposing doors to mysterious rooms until they reached a large parlor-type space.

"Ah, Mister Black! So good to see you here at one of our gatherings at last," Abraxas Malfoy said smoothly, rising to his feet. Beside him, his wife peered down her nose at Sirius.

"Welcome to our humble abode here in France, Monsieur Black," she murmured, her voice a hum that should have been gentle and pleasant but somehow reminded Sirius of a hissing serpent. Not that it was a surprise, not in the home of the notoriously Dark Malfoy family.

"Thank you for having me, Madame and Monsieur Malfoy," he acknowledged grudgingly.

"You must be queasy from that Portkey still, it is never easy to travel such long distances in one jump, Mister Black. My wife and I will not keep you. Ila will show you to your quarters. I do hope you don't mind living in the West Wing. Many of the younger set live there, including quite a few of your classmates, I believe. Just a few instructions—do not go into the South Wing at all, and please refrain from exploring the cottage that stands a little ways from here. Otherwise, you are free to look around the grounds and the manor, and you may call for Ila if you somehow become lost or turned around. I'm afraid lunch is over, but dinner will be served at promptly seven. Just follow anyone down to the Dining Hall, you are the only one new to this establishment so the rest should know their way around the place."

"Thank you," Sirius said again, unable to think of anything else to say. Something passed between the Malfoys, but it was fleeting and Sirius was unable to catch any hint of what it might have entailed. He hoped it didn't have anything to do with him. Staying the summer here would be bad enough as it was without having the Malfoys angered at his apparent lack of politeness or something. Not that he cared about their opinion, but it was preferable not to infuriate or provoke his hosts for the summer…

Dismissed, Sirius followed the silent house-elf out from the Parlor, and proceeded to get thoroughly lost as it marched him down corridor after corridor, up a flight of stairs, and yet another maze of hallways. The architecture of the place was cold, almost like a graveyard of marble and oak doorways, Gothic arches and fancy carvings embedded in massive pillars. The ceiling almost rivaled the height of the one at Hogwarts, but possessed none of its comforting scenes of the sky or echoes of children's laughter. In fact, the enormous place was like a tomb—deathly quiet.

Abruptly, Ila stopped in front of a slightly smaller dark wooden door, the fourth door down a darker and _carpeted _hallway. There was only one more door past this one. "Master is putting you heres," the house-elf croaked. "Master Black's quarters for summer. Others staying in other rooms here too, if Master Black becomes lonely." Wiping palms slightly sticky with sweat on his robes, Sirius reached out and felt the cool metal of the bronze doorknob turn easily. He stepped inside and stared.

It was large—larger than his bedroom back home at Grimmauld Place, of course. The Blacks had fallen on hard times and been forced to sell their larger mansion three generations ago to move to the small house at Grimmauld Place. It was perhaps almost the size of the Gryffindor boy's dormitory, except this room held only one huge antique bed with four dark posters rising menacingly towards the perfectly white and smooth ceiling. A massive wardrobe and matching set of drawers stood at attention across the room from the bed, pressed against the wall that the door was set into. An impersonal bedside table of a wood matching that of his bed and wardrobe completed the image, overall, of a guest bedroom in an old and moneyed family's mansion. _Funny, since that is precisely what it _is, Sirius thought ironically to himself. When he stepped forward, his shoes were hampered by the carpeting—thick, luxurious, and chocolate brown. The color and richness brought an unexpected wave of misery to Sirius' throat. _It reminds me of chocolate, and chocolate reminds me of Remus. Remus, who might die or be forcibly expelled and outed to the world as a werewolf if I don't stay here this summer and try to fulfill Mother's wishes. Remus, who is probably wondering with James why me of all people is ensconced in Malfoy's snooty French house. James' parents probably know why. Maybe they'll tell James and Remus I had no choice. On that note, I wonder if Peter is here? _That gave Sirius a jolt of hope. He'd hate to have Peter return to a place he obviously dreaded, but maybe, just maybe, he might find his friend here as well. That thought alone carried Sirius through until dinnertime.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

At 6:53, having sent Ila off, unpacked all his things, snacked on a bag of Bertie Bott's Beans that he'd snuck with him, paced around his extravagant guest room countless times, peered down the dark corridor of his living quarters, decided that he really didn't want to explore or knock on any doors, played numerous games of naughts and crosses and hangman with himself, changed his clothes twice, and collapsed in the soft mattress to stare at the ceiling and curse the Malfoys for keeping the place up so well that there weren't even cracks in the paint that he could count, Sirius finally slipped on his shoes and opened his door to make his way down to dinner.

The first thing he noticed was that the door right at the end of the hallway was also opening. _Yes! Another human being! _At this point, Sirius, having had no human contact for hours, was close to insanity. He was a people-person, damn it! He couldn't deal with the ringing silence that pervaded the place! He would wither away and die without actual human conversation and contact!

But when the door was fully open and the person obviously inhabiting the room at the end of the West Wing's third corridor stepped out into the shadowy light, Sirius was not so sure he was grateful for that human sighting anymore. Because the person who had just come out of the room practically next to Sirius' was the one person Sirius did _not _want to see at all.

"_Snivellus."_

The dark boy's head snapped up, a wand appearing in his hand faster than Sirius could blink.

"Oh. Black. What an unpleasant surprise," Sirius' most hated nemesis intoned, black eyes blazing up in familiar contempt. "What brings _you _to Chateau Malfoy this summer instead of diddling with your fellow imbeciles and—_animal—_as you usually do?"

"Shut up, Snape. You're more of an _animal _than any of my friends, hands down. It certainly isn't my choiceto be here and have to see your ugly mug more than necessary. All year at Hogwarts is bad enough, and Lily certainly isn't here now to stop me from hexing you silly like I've wanted to do all year."

Something like this would have sent Snape flying into a rage at Hogwarts. Sirius knew it, knew just where to push Snape's buttons for the greatest effects. So it was supremely shocking and puzzling to Sirius when, instead of shouting or attacking, Snape simply sneered, closed the door to what was presumably his own room for the summer, and _tucked his wand back into his robes. _Was he _crazy? _Sirius could have had his wand from him in an instant with a simple Summoning spell!

Some of that shock must have shown on his face, because Snape raised a jeering eyebrow and began walking down the corridor. Passing Sirius, he murmured in a low, silky voice, "I wouldn't mention any of your idiot friends in this place, if I were you. The walls have very avid ears, even eyes if they wish it. I would be careful." And Sirius was left, staring at the back of Severus Snape as it rapidly walked away from him, vanishing as the lanky boy turned right, presumably heading to the Dining Hall.

_What was _that? _A threat? Or a warning? _Sirius couldn't decide, and his head was beginning to ache, and he was beginning to feel rather peckish…_Oh drat. Dinner. I don't suppose I'd get off to a good start if I am late to dinner. And your potential guide just walked away from you. _"Blast it!" Sirius strode after Snape, but it was too late—the boy had disappeared.

"Black?" At the sound of another male voice, Sirius spun around. A boy Sirius recognized vaguely as a Slytherin in their year had just emerged from the second of the rooms. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm learning how to yodel for a living. What do you _think _I'm doing here?"

The blond boy had the grace to look slightly abashed. "My apologies, Black. I was startled at your presence at the Summer Gathering this year. You haven't been to any before."

"No, I haven't—my mother wished me to come here and learn what I could this year before I left her home," Sirius said cautiously. He didn't know much about this boy, only that he was just as popular with the girls as Sirius himself was, and considered one of the greatest catches of his year for Pureblooded witches.

The boy—slightly shorter than Sirius, but with an air of confidence that seemed to make him three feet taller—smiled at him. "Well then, I do hope you find your stay here an enjoyable learning experience. I've been coming here since I was twelve. Lord and Lady Malfoy are very generous to extend such hospitality to us, and it is a time of wonderful opportunities." His voice was low and pleasant, and Sirius was rather taken aback at how…well…_nice _this Pureblooded Slytherin seemed to be. He had no mocking undercurrent to his tone, no threatening darkness, and no all-consuming arrogance Sirius associated with the Purebloods who would come to such an elite congress. Blinking, he found himself smiling hopefully at the boy.

"I hope so. I would not want to…" _to get Remus killed or expelled—_"to disappoint my family."

"That is very filial of you. Your parents must be proud of you, Sirius Black." A musical laugh punctuated and underscored the sincerity in the boy's words. How had he gotten into Slytherin? He was too nice!

"I hope so," he responded, and then—uncharacteristically of him, he blushed. "I'm sorry, you know my name but yours seems to have slipped my mind…"

"Oh, no worries at all. We weren't in the same House and never really spoke, so I don't expect you to remember it. It's Rosier—Evan Rosier, but do call me Evan."

"Well, it's very nice to 'meet' you, Evan. Please, call me Sirius. I'm not one for much formalities either."

"Thank you, Sirius. Now, shall we head down to dinner? I believe the others are already there, and we might be a little late."

"Oh no!" Sirius gasped, frantic. "This isn't exactly the good impression I wanted…"

He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, but Evan's calm voice slowed his pattering heart and suddenly clammy hands. "Please, don't worry. I'm sure the Malfoys will understand. I'll show you to the Dining Hall, shall I?" Evan glided ahead, easily navigating the confusing web of corridors, until they found themselves at what was obviously the dining room. It was huge. Three large tables ran side by side, filled almost to capacity—one, Sirius noticed as all the heads turned to greet the latecomers, was filled entirely with adults. The Malfoys and their son, Lucius, presided at that table. The other held younger faces. Sirius caught a glimpse of a carefully blank Snape near the end, and grimaced. The third table held children—some of them in the early years at Hogwarts, Sirius noted, and some still too young to go to Hogwarts yet.

"Rosier, Black, you are both six minutes late," Mister Malfoy noted.

Sirius opened his mouth to explain, but before he could, he felt a warm, soft hand curl around his shoulder. "Lord Malfoy, my apologies. I met Sirius in the West Wing and distracted him from dinnertime with my surprise at his presence. It is hardly his fault."

Lord Malfoy looked over at another man, two seats away from him—Evan's father, Sirius realized. They looked the same, only different age-wise, and everyone held their breath as father and son exchanged a look that Sirius couldn't even begin to interpret. Then the man—Mister Rosier—inclined his head gravely. "If Lord Malfoy accepts, I see no reason to punish either you or young Mister Black this time. Do keep an eye on the time in the future, Evan."

"Thank you, Father."

"Very well. Both of you are excused for your lateness. Please take a seat. Rosier, may I entrust young Black's care to you? You can teach him the ropes of the place, perhaps, and show him around a little."

"I will, Lord Malfoy. Thank you for your graciousness." Evan bowed gracefully, his lithe body making it seem like a dance and not a gesture of submission from younger to older. The slight pressure on his arm jolted Sirius out of his contemplation, and he quickly mimicked Evan, bowing slightly from the waist. It was much more awkward that Evan's, and Sirius felt his cheeks go hot at his clumsy inexperience. _Stupid Pureblood etiquette! I can never remember all the rules or get them right! Nor do I want to, _he thought petulantly.

At least it had seemed to be the right thing to do, because the tables relaxed a little and began conversing with each other again. Evan, who hadn't let go of Sirius' shoulder, guided Sirius to the table containing ages from third year up till as old as Sirius and Evan. There was a chair down at the foot of the table, and one right at the head. Sirius began to make his way to the one at the foot, only to have the manicured and masculine hand gently propel him towards the head instead. Confused, Sirius threw a look at Evan, who only smiled.

Turning to the boy at the right hand of the empty chair at the head, Evan addressed him in an authoritative tone. "Rodolphus, take Avery's seat. Avery and the rest of you, move down one." The table went silent. After a long pause, the brown-haired muscular Rodolphus stood and crossed to the left side of the table, where a sulky-looking sandy-haired boy with a dark complexion sat: Avery. Avery shoved his chair back and turned to his right, where the next boy down promptly got up and vacated the seat. And so on down the line. Sirius didn't know much about Pureblood seating arrangements for dining, but he could discern that something monumental was happening and that somehow, Evan was very much the leader. _Just what did I get into by making friends with Evan? _Sirius watched as the line of boys shifted, the last boy grumpily plonking down onto the seat at the foot of the table. Sirius noticed that Snape was the only other one whose name he knew, other than the ones whom he had just met. Snape didn't look up at either Evan or Sirius the way almost all the other boys had done, but instead quietly took his new position—third to last at the end of the table, among all the younger ones sitting at that table. _Peter isn't here. Did his mother let him go to James' house this summer? Damn, there goes my one friend hope. Although Evan might not be so bad for a Slytherin, nothing like Snivellus at all. _

Evan patted Sirius' shoulder. "There now. Please, sit. You must be starving." Sirius found himself in the right hand seat, next to Evan, and gradually the conversations rose again, leaving Sirius with an interesting problem: just what had happened, and how was he going to be affected?

After dinner, Malfoy Senior stood up majestically, and all speech stopped at once. "With the appearance of Mister Black today, our number is complete and the relaxation is over. Tomorrow, lessons start, so enjoy your freedom tonight. You'll be too tired by tomorrow night to do anything!" A ripple of polite laughter answered him. "Lady Malfoy and I will be retiring to the South Wing now, so any questions you have must be directed to my son, Lucius." The carbon copy of his father tilted his chin even further up, and Sirius had to stifle chuckles at what James would have had to say about the notorious narcissist. _His engagement to Narcissa Black is no surprise at all, really. They match each other, and her name definitely suits Lucius' tendencies! _As the adults slowly trickled away, Sirius heard his name being called.

"Sirius. Sirius!" He glanced over. "Sorry, Evan, my mind was wandering a little. What did you want?"

The fair-skinned boy smiled again. _Really, he has a very friendly smile. No wonder all the girls like him. He's just as gorgeous as Lucius Malfoy, without the haughty I-am-better-than-you air. _"No problem. I was just going to tell you that we younger ones have a little tradition, our last free night before lessons start. You'll be joining us?"

"What? Oh…sure, why not? It's not like you're going to torture or murder me or anything, right?" Sirius joked, grinning.

"I only save the torture for those who deserve it," Evan informed him, muted green eyes sparkling with good humor.

"I've been a very good boy this year," Sirius cried, pretending to cower from him.

"I do hope you have, Sirius Black, or you'll find out that it's bad to lie," Evan threatened him with an exaggerated stare. The last two adults exited, and Evan bounced up out of his chair, throwing his arms out wide recklessly. "My dear friends and fellow Purebloods! The time has come! Let us greet the summer! Let summer officially start, and let the games begin!" With that, the lights blinked out dramatically, leaving them in total darkness. Sirius might have gasped, but no one heard it so it didn't count. At least, that's what Sirius told himself. No one else seemed to react.

"Three! Two! One! _Commencer!_" A mass scrambling _did _provoke a gasp from Sirius, but almost immediately he felt a reassuring hand clutch at his arm. "Sirius, my friend, follow me and try to be quiet. The objective of the game is to scatter around this part of the manor and try and remain undetected, while finding and disabling any other person you can. Use any means necessary to immobilize the others and take their wands."

It sounded like a spiced up game of Hide and Seek—Sirius followed Evan as silently as he could manage. They made their way down to a dark nook, where Evan pulled him in and cast a spell Sirius didn't know, with a wand that was suddenly in his hand. "Okay, we can speak now—I've used a spell to muffle our voices, no one else will hear us. We have a five-minute grace period to find a place to lair up in, and then when you hear a beeping noise, the real game begins. Disarm and stun, or do anything to get the other players down. Always take their wands. After thirty minutes, the lights will go on again and we'll retrieve everyone and congregate to see who has the most wands. We're allowed to work alone or pair up, but no more than groups of two."

"Cool. Hey, can you teach me that spell later on? I've never heard of it." Evan laughed.

"Of course. It's a useful spell. I'll teach it to you another time. Right now, I believe it's about to be show time—" and a beeping sound indicated that yes, it was indeed time to start the game. Evan cancelled the spell and almost immediately shot a silent bolt of red towards something Sirius couldn't see—and a thump told him his spell had made contact with a body. _Oh dear. Silent casting? I don't think I can…_Sirius gulped. Well, you never knew until you tried. He trotted to keep up with Evan as the boy _Accio'd _the wand of the Stunned person.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Sirius had never felt so exhausted in his life, magically and physically, as he did when the lights finally went back on. He had, only thanks to Evan, not been taken down. Evan had had to save him a couple times though, and the spells, other than the Stunner at the beginning, were increasingly alien to Sirius—and, he suspected, grey. Evan seemed to be in good spirits though, as they trudged down the hallway, rescuing Stunned, bound, and wandless players. There were quite a few of them. Back at the Dining Hall, Evan sat on the table and surveyed the troops, all of whom looked rather worse for the wear. "How many of you went down?" Almost all of them looked down, or shuffled their feet embarrassedly. "I see. Anyone younger than fifteen shouldn't worry, it's all part of learning the right spells and practice, which the us older ones have had." Evan smirked; the younger children raised their heads a little, evidently appeased.

"Who was not, in any way shape or form, taken down?" Sirius raised his hand—so did several others.

"So, Avery, Nott, Rodolphus, Sirius, and Snape. Oh, and of course, me. Well, that's better than last year. Congratulations to all of you." Sirius glanced at the others Evan had named. Avery and Rodolphus had been the ones ordered to move, and Nott was one of the few girls present. Anna Nott—she'd been one of the girls he'd admired from afar but refused to talk to. She was a Slytherin, after all, and two years younger than he besides. _Snape? Well, I suppose he's as sneaky as they come._

"And how many wands did you take?"

"Ten." Avery.

"Eight." Rodolphus.

"Fourteen." Nott.

"Eleven." Snape.

"Eighteen, between Sirius and I. That's nine each, so Anna, it looks like you win this round." Evan graciously nodded at the curly-haired brunette, who nodded back solemnly. "Here's your prize—" Evan beckoned with his wand, and something shot out of the half-obscured cupboard tucked away in the corner. He handed it to the girl, and her eyes lit up with undisguised delight as she turned a small, plain silver knife over and over in her hands.

"It's from Destiny's Weaponry and Tools," she remarked reverently. Sirius blinked. Even _he _had heard of the renown shop, in fact the only respectable one located in Knockturn Alley. They had a reputation for well-honed and solid, reliable magical weapons and aids. A silver athame was essential to almost every wizard or witch who wanted to perform more than household charms the rest of their lives—most powerful rites and some potions required the use of an athame in one way or another. _Harvesting certain ingredients, cutting runes, the like_. Silver athames by themselves were expensive but fairly easy to buy, but the ones sold by Destiny's were desired because once they bonded to their new owner, only that person could wield it forever. _Handy, if you want to ward off thieves. No one will even think of stealing something bonded like that, it tends to have nasty side-effects on the thief up to and including killing the thief. _Sirius, like all other Pureblooded children, had heard horror stories of bonded objects ripping themselves out of a thief's hand and stabbing the would-be criminal to death without any outside intervention."Thank you, Rosier!" Sirius looked at the plain knife in her hand with more respect. _Remus said that it was extremely expensive to get anything from Destiny's. Wonder how much that little knife cost? How rich is Evan anyway? Or did Malfoy supply it maybe?_

"You've earned it, Anna," Evan said warmly, and the crowd watched breathlessly as she slowly drew a thin line of blood down her palm. She grit her teeth, but made no sound as bright red sprang to the surface, and the blade flashed once, brightly, before becoming once more an ordinary dagger. Nott's palm was unmarred. Everyone let out a _whoosh _of breath in awe, and Rosier continued on into the silence as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "Severus, you did almost as well with eleven. Congratulations on your improvement."

"You are too kind, Rosier." It was the first words Sirius had heard out of Snape since the corridor incident. The tone was bland, the words polite, Snape's face blank. Nothing, not a single emotion, showed, but there seemed to be a certain apprehensive tension between Evan and Snape. Sirius wondered what it was.

"Lestrange—Rodolphus Lestrange—and Avery, I'm disappointed in both of you. Last year both of you had twelve wands. You're getting sloppy." Both boys ducked their heads and muttered an apology.

"And, of course, Sirius." Evan turned to him, and his voice went from coldly unemotional—the kind that Sirius hadn't known Evan possessed, which made him slightly uneasy—to the familiar approving tone. "You've done well for your first game. You kept yourself from becoming irreparably hexed, and you managed to keep up with me. You're not bad at moving around silently. Good job." And with that, the atmosphere of tenseness broke, and Evan beamed a big smile around the room. "Please, everyone, go get yourself unhexed if you've found your way to the business end of someone's wand. Dismissed!"

The crowd immediately broke into chatter as some of the group began removing obscure hexes like giant boils or hair that seemed to have taken a life of its own and was attempting to strangle them, while others moved towards the doorway and headed for their rooms. Evan turned to Sirius with a charming smile, and remarked, "So, would you like to learn that muffling spell now?"

**Author's Notes**

_You may query why such a title, and what the purpose is of the quote from the Bible at the beginning of the story. _

_It is rather obscure and not _completely_ linear or logical, but bear with me if you're interested. The title "Suffer my Children" is a bastardization of the verse printed at the top of the chapter, particularly when Jesus says "Suffer little children to come unto me…" and this particular scripture refers to an instance in his life when his disciples tried to turn away the group of mothers who were seeking blessings for their children. He rebuked his disciples for turning away the children and told them that only if they could receive the kingdom of God in a childlike manner—with innocence and simple faith—would they be able to enter the kingdom of God. "Suffer my Children" began as a single concept: childhood innocence, and morphed rapidly into the story of the maturation of Sirius Black as he goes from being a childish prankster to a (gasp!) responsible adult. Because no story is complete without Snape in it, I began thinking about the childhood of those growing up on the other side—the "wrong" side. The ones who got Sorted into Slytherin, the ones who are expected to become Dark wizards and witches, the ones whose parents, family, and respected peers for the most part raised their children to be concerned about blood, money, and power. _

_Thus, Summer Gatherings for Purebloods to teach their children their ways and traditions and views and allow them to socialize with 'the right kind'. And the darker side of childhood…you see, centuries ago Jesus taught that innocence and simple faith should be cherished and encouraged. But too many times, people and circumstances combine to rob these children of their innocence and trust far too early. It happens in our world. And it happens in Rowling's Wizarding World. Perhaps you can think of this story as the battlefield of the last days of childhood and the first steps as a pragmatic adult for some—and a memorial for those children who were already adults long ago. Even the corrupted, already-turned-evil ones. _

_Again, as I've mentioned, the path of my thoughts that went from scripture to title to story is rather convoluted and possibly untraceable, but I did somehow get from point A to point B and you somehow stuck with me through the entire chapter and the Really Long Author's Note, so well-done you! If I have offended you in the use or mention of the Bible verse, please accept my apologies, I do not mean any insult to any religion, faith, or as might be the case, non-religion. The actual story itself is nonreligious in itself, unless you wish it to be. If you wish to discuss my views on religion, I would be more than happy to reply a polite pm, but not a review please as that sort of conversation is rather off-topic and more suited to private conversation. _

_Thanks everyone! Please tell me what you think._

_The chapter title comes from a Swedish proverb that goes, "A life without love is like a year without summer."_


	2. Overture

**Disclaimer: That thing where I say that I don't own all this stuff. **

The morning came much to early for Sirius. Unfortunately, the person at the door wouldn't stop banging, and Sirius finally stopped attempting to ignore it, lurching out of bed and sleepily undoing the latch. Evan's bright and cheerful face greeted him. "Good morning, Sirius! We have half an hour until breakfast. Lessons start after that. I thought you might want some help getting ready. Can I come in?"

Sirius yawned, and opened his door wider. "Be my guest." Evan stepped—no, _bounced _in, and threw open the wardrobe doors.

"The bathroom that we all share is to the left of this hallway. Go get freshened up, I'll pick your clothes. Hurry! We shouldn't be late for this meal as well." Sirius, still half-asleep, mumbled something in response and stumbled out to find the bathroom.

After waiting his turn behind Avery and a massive sized flax-haired boy, Sirius truly woke up when the shower spat ice-cold water on him. Frantically, Sirius searched for the knob to turn the water warm—it wasn't there. Sirius took the fastest shower he had ever taken, and was wide-awake and shivering when he tumbled back into his room. Evan looked up from his seat on the rumpled bed, blue-green eyes sympathetic. "You've been introduced to the cold shower, I see. We're not allowed warm showers during the summer—all of us are here to be toughened up, and Lord Malfoy implemented the cold shower rule six years ago with that aim in mind. Before you ask, Warming spells and the like won't work. Sorry for not warning you."

"Yeah, well a warning would have been nice," Sirius said testily, plodding over to the bed. There were some robes laid out next to Evan—Sirius blinked owlishly at them, not recognizing them in the least.

"Your robes for the day. I took the liberty of transfiguring some of yours to work for the day and not embarrass you."

The robes were still made of the same thin, summer material that they had presumably been before, but now they were black, a color he seldom wore. The Black family crest adorned the right arm sleeve and the front of his robes in silver stitching. Sirius sighed, but decided that Evan probably knew more about appropriate clothing for the circumstances than he did. "Trust me, you'll want plenty more robes like that before the summer is over. I hope you paid some attention in McGonagall's class in between playing practical jokes." Evan tossed the clothing at him and strolled out, calling back, "I'll wait outside for you. We can go to breakfast together."

The door swung shut, and Sirius changed hastily, unwilling to face the Malfoys if he was late again. No doubt they reported straight to his mother, and his mother was nasty enough to…well, he didn't want to think about what she _could _do with the information she held on Remus. It was just all-around best to keep his head low and hope that having made friends with Evan Rosier was good enough for Walburga Black's ambition and blood-pride.

Breakfast was a much lighter and more informal affair than dinner, Sirius decided with relief. The grand Dining Hall didn't seem as shadowy and pompous as it had last night, and the table of adults seemed much more human and relaxed somehow, even mad Bella Black, the cousin he'd clashed the most with at school and the occasional unfortunate family reunion. _I can't believe I share the same last name as _that, Sirius contemplated, eyeing the statuesque woman seated near the middle-end of the table and currently taunting the man across from her, scarlet-slicked lips lazily moving. _Gorgeous, of course, but no sane man would want to get into bed with a viper. She could very well bite off important…bits. Wouldn't put it past her. _

The adults, all but a mahogany-haired man with a broad chest and a tall woman with stunning amber eyes, left. The children from the third table also obediently departed with Narcissa Black—_soon to be Malfoy—_and Lucius Malfoy. _Makes sense, the younger adults taking charge of the littles while some of the older adults whip _us _into shape. Or whatever they do. Mother was not very specific about what actually _happens _in this place, and Evan kept evading the topic last night after the game. _

"_Bonjour, mes jeunes amis_. I am Alodie Anais, you will call me Alodie, _oui_? I will teach you advanced etiquette, you will learn many things of _société_, how to succeed as those of noble heritage. I trust you will all listen and learn well."

Alodie's accent was only slightly flavored with the French lilt, and it was soothing and melodic. In contrast, as her male counterpart spoke, it was in a rough baritone and all very British.

"You'll be directly under Alodie here, and to me. I'm Karston Nott. Anna's my daughter—" here, he nodded towards the quiet-voiced brunette who'd won the game last night—"but don't get it into your heads that I'll be playing favorites. I'm to get all of your spellwork up to snuff, and you'll be sore and half-dead by the time I'm finished with you—but by Salazar, you'll know how to fight! Not just fight, you'll _win. _You understand me?"

When the group uneasily murmured yes in a ragged chorus, a frown bloomed on Nott's ruddy face. "First lesson. How many of you have forgotten what I drilled ye for last year?"

Sirius nearly jumped out of his seat when almost immediately, the entire table as one said, "None, Sir! Addressing our elders and betters, Sir!"

_Just like those army pictures in the Muggle big screen places that James, Remus, Peter, and I snuck into once. _Sirius swallowed a nervous kneazle that seemed to be permanently lodged in his throat. _I hope I survive this summer so I can tell the others that I went to an honest-to-goodness Wizarding foot camp thingy, or whatever it's called! _

"All yours, Alodie. I'll take over when you're done with them." Nott strode out, leaving Sirius, Evan, and the rest to turn to Alodie.

She brought her hands together briskly. "_Allez_! We go to the Small Parlor!"

They trooped out quickly, following the French woman down to yet another room—_this is supposed to be the _small _parlor? It's as big as the entire Grimmauld Place! _Sirius forced himself not to stare like a Muggle. If he was going to be learning social graces, it probably wouldn't do him any favors to be caught with his mouth hanging open. Everyone found seats, on one or another of the scattered upright, Victorian-style chairs that must have been specially placed there for their lesson, since it didn't seem to fit the décor of the maroon-and-marigold parlor.

"Now, review first. We have a new _monsieur_, and he must work doubly hard to catch up to the rest of us,_ oui_ Monsieur Black?"

"Wha- oh, oui, uh, yes. I'll work hard," Sirius stammered, feeling like a dolt. _Bugger all, I need James here to jump in. I'm no good at this polite Pureblood ponce thing. Even James is better than me, and he didn't grow up in a blood-obsessed family like mine. _

"Good, good. Now, Monsieur Rosier and Mademoiselle Nott. She is the foreign wife of old ancestry, older than yours, and her husband has left her in your care while he takes care of business. Begin."

Sirius watched in fascination as Evan, without so much as an eye-blink, transformed into a slicker version of what he despised in Purebloods—pandering and insipidly charming. _Ugh. I could never do that! _

_ You have to. Remus and maybe the Headmaster are on the line here. _

_ Oh, shut up. _

_ I'm you. I can't shut up. _

_ Well then at least keep quiet and let me concentrate on the lesson so I can fake that disgusting act! _

With no response to that forthcoming, his mind fell silent. Sirius breathed a sigh of gratefulness, and focused on the scene. Alodie soon stopped the role-playing and picked a new scenario and new people. Sirius noticed that everyone eventually went, in groups of two or more, and Alodie sometimes paused the scene to correct or instruct on some fine point or other.

"Monsieur Snape, you are speaking to Mademoiselle von Kuhler, whom your…_guardian, _let us say, considers a good match for you. Her ancestry is older than yours. You are in stage three of the courting process."

Sirius observed the skinny menace of his school skeptically. _Snivellus, married? Yeah, right. No girl would take that greasy-haired, hook-nosed, sallow-skinned bat! I bet he doesn't even know how to _talk _to a girl…well, except for Lily, but he sure bungled that up by himself, didn't he? _Still, it would be a good laugh. Sirius watched carefully, ready to stifle any guffaws he was sure would want to escape his mouth.

And then opened said mouth in pure shock.

"I was just thinking of you, Miss von Kuhler." Snape's voice had suddenly taken on a whole new life of it's own, alluring and _sincere. _He had straightened, his hair was out of his face, and his stance was confident as he took the mousy-haired girl's fluttering hand as if it were a precious treasure.

"And what, pray tell, _have _you been thinking of me, Mister Snape?"

"Oh, but I could not settle on just one, _mon ange_. I cannot separate your exquisite beauty from your quick wit and intelligence, no more than I could separate a bird's wings from it's body—it would be callous to do so, and most unworthy of you."

"My own poet, such beautiful words from your lips tonight! Yet how can I trust that it is you and not thoughts of my family or money speaking?"

"Lady of my heart, would you be as cruel as to doubt me? I am below you in every way, and I will not pretend to be any better than the dirt beneath your foot. But you hold my very life in your noble hands today, tomorrow, and for all tomorrows for as long as the stars watch over us. I can do nothing but hope for your favor."

"Monsieur, you truly touch my soul with your words. My hands will be gentle—I can promise nothing more. I wait for my family's decision, you understand."

"_Mon ange_, you make me the happiest man in the world tonight just by your words of hope. I abide by your family's decision."

"_Fin! Fin!_ Excellent, _tres bon_. Monsieur Snape, you took a calculated risk with the pet names, but it was very good. Very sincere indeed, rather than crude. Mademoiselle von Kuhler, you played it safe and indeed, no mistakes, but no inspiration either. Still, a very good performance on both sides, I have no complaints."

_Blimey! That—how—when—_Sirius thoughts were in a jumble, churning madly and spitting out random words. Just _how _had slimy Snape gone, in an instant, from the slouchy, sulky snake Sirius was familiar with, to an elegant and genuine noble gentleman? And those words, those absurdly romantic and passionate speeches that didn't seem to belong to Snape and yet seemed beautifully poetic and real coming out of his mouth? There seemed to be nothing to describe the transformation—and the rapid dwindling right back to the black bat of Slytherin once Alodie had called a halt. _Acting skills, it's got to be an act, just that he's good at it. _Sirius tried to compose himself as he heard his name being called.

"Ah, Monsieur Black. I will not force you to perform today, but you will read this and practice and show me what you have learned in two days, bon? You must study hard. Here." Alodie handed him a thickly bound, glossy covered book. Scrawled in large print was the title: "Pureblood Passion, Dining, and Society: Living Art." _Great. More homework. Just what I need. _Sirius looked up dolefully, and caught Snape staring at him with—wouldn't you know it—that infuriating smirk of his, the one that silently mocked him. _I am years ahead of you, Black. You'll never get it right, Black. You're just a blot on society, on this way of life. You're the embarrassment, the shameful secret, the mistake. _

Sirius sent a searing look back at Snape. _I am not a mistake. I have nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed for, and I'll prove it by beating your act in two days. _Resolved, Sirius sat back and listened as closely as he ever had to an instructor, determined to outdo Snape.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of rules and peculiar, outdated manners. Alodie paired Sirius with Evan to learn the basics of polite small talk and how to play peacemaker between feuding families or individuals. Lunch found Sirius unable to form a thought in his head except _Want. Food. Now. _Mister Nott took over when the hour break after lunch was over—which Sirius had mostly spent splayed out on his bed, prone. And then Sirius found himself in a different sort of work out altogether: this one physical.

"_Dive! _Damn it, I said _dive, _not roll, Avery! Black, did your mother drop you on your head as a baby? You _do _know how to cast spells silently, don't you? _Focus, _von Fuhler, this isn't one of your pretty tea parties with vapid conversations. Nott could have killed you three different ways in the time it took for you to get your shield up. Snape, stop slinking around in the background and holding back, if your classmates can't keep up with you that's their problem, not yours. Greengrass, your entire technique needs to be looser, do you have a stick up your arse? _Nott! _That was an elementary mistake, I know you know better than to be disarmed! Black, that attack was so pitiful it couldn't even have stood as a defense. For Salazar's sake, boy, are you a squib? Start casting some effective spells!"

When Mister Nott finally called time and stopped his derisive running commentary on their performance, Sirius was dripping and his leg and shoulder throbbed ferociously—the shoulder a victim of Lestrange's burning curse and his leg having got in the way of Snape's cutting hex, neither of which he was in the least bit familiar with. Around him, the others were gathering, all bearing at least one or two injuries, and three of the students were missing. Sirius vaguely remembered Mister Nott dragging them out of the fight and calling a house-elf, presumably to transport them somewhere to be healed.

"Well, for those of you who managed to last the battle, congratulations. On to my real thoughts—that was complete shit. Rosier, you were a little slow with your wand and I noticed that your bone-breaking curse took three tries. You won't have that time in a real fight. Nott and Lestrange, _both _of you lost your wands to someone else once. That should never happen. Snape, your attack was fine, very inventive hexes you used, but you tend to over-think things. Black, you obviously need plenty of help learning new spells and practice casting silently. Your reaction time's fine, but your defense is weak, and your attack would be a hell lot better with a wider repertoire. I'd ask either Rosier or Snape for some help on that point. The rest of you—_focus, focus, focus! _None of you were fast enough, ready enough, or powerful enough. You'd die in a heartbeat in a real fight."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

If Sirius thought that would be it, he was very wrong. Nott allowed a house-elf to heal the injuries, and two of the three missing came back looking sheepish but healed (the last one, the house-elf informed Mister Nott, was victim to a very grey curse that caused his blood to boil dangerously close to disaster point, and if he didn't get complete bed-rest for the rest of the day at least, he might spontaneously combust, heated blood bursting into flames all over the body), but they were not allowed to rest before launching into the next exercise.

They were placed into pairs to do more traditional dueling. This, Sirius actually knew well. His parents had insisted that he and Regulus become proficient with traditional dueling, never mind that it was a ridiculously archaic method of solving feuds and quarrels that often ended in the death of one of the duelers. So, placed against a boy going into fifth year at Hogwarts—Sirius was fairly certain he was one of the rowdier Ravenclaws—Sirius managed to win. Mister Nott pit him against a sixth year Slytherin, whom he beat as well.

"Hmm. It seems you're better at dueling than free-fights," Mister Nott mused. He tapped his knuckles on his wand as stared into space, then faced Sirius again. "You obviously need the most help with learning new spells that will do some serious damage. The spells you're using are all either defensive or first-level defensive, or at the best, distractors." His eyes scanned the dueling students, and he jerked his head decisively. "Mister Snape! Stop dueling Avery and come here." _Oh no. Not him. Anyone but him, even that pompous ass Lestrange is better than Snape…_

"Mister Snape, your dueling is proficient enough. For the next few weeks, you'll be using this time to teach Mister Black here some of the hexes and curses you know. Make sure he's up to an acceptable standard." An aghast look crossed Snape's face. _Good. I'm not the only one who doesn't want to do this. Maybe he can convince Nott not to…_

"But Sir, I—"

"Mister Snape, did I say you had a choice?"

"No, Sir."

"Then?"

"Nothing, Sir. I'll teach Black." The poisonous glare Snape shot Sirius didn't fit the deferential tone, but Karston Nott ignored it.

"Good. See to it that he's got a working knowledge of all the Levels but Three and Five. You can use the side-room for it." He gestured one large hand towards a door on the opposite of the empty room they'd been taken to for the physical training. Snape turned on his heel and headed towards it—Sirius _hmphed _and hurried after the sallow boy.

"Get in, Black," Snape said curtly.

"I'll take all the time I want," Sirius retorted, deliberately slowing down. Snape rolled his eyes and crossed his arms impatiently.

When both of them were in the smaller but just as empty room and Snape had shut the door with a _clang, _Sirius leaned against one of the walls, idly playing with his wand.

"So, Snape, would you like me to levitate you upside-down again?" he taunted.

Snape laughed. "_Levitation? _You think we're here to learn how to hang people upside-down in the air for shite and giggles? I thought you were unnaturally thick, Black. I should have guessed that you're not just as thick as two planks, you're a rock-solid brick and just about as smart as one. _Pulpapulpito!" _

Sirius didn't get his shield up in time, for he hadn't been expecting the sudden attack. He collapsed, his chest a mass of agony, muscles clenching and lungs straining to breathe. Then the crippling pain stopped and only the echo of the spell was left, his heart beating unnaturally fast as he slowly clambered to his feet again.

"Enjoy that? That was a muscle-cramping curse. Category fourth level out of five. It's considered Dark because if the caster is powerful enough and angry enough, the very heart could cramp and give the victim a prolonged heart attack. Excruciating way to die. Also Dark because if you aim for a pregnant woman's stomach, you could cause her to miscarry or, if she's extremely lucky, bear a child with brain damage and physical disabilities."

"Damn it, Snape, you could have _killed _me!" Sirius burst out, finally able to force his chest to relax and allow him to speak.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "That was much shorter and _far _below the force it takes to affect the heart. But consider it a reminder that I, too, am capable of…_murder._" His voice turned into a hatred-filled sneer. "Besides, you _did _try to kill me this year. You and Potter. It's too bad the _animal _didn't end up snacking on me, isn't it? Oh, but don't worry. You've the protection of Rosier—_for now. _His pets never last long in that position."

"Evan's a friendly person, unlike _you_, you git. Leave my friends out of this. You're not _worthy _to even call them by their names, snake," hissed Sirius, anger forcing him to forget the dull ache of his chest.

Snape merely leaned a wiry shoulder against the opposite wall. "You'll be able to cast Dark curses in your sleep when I'm done with you. I'm not keen on the idea of teaching you spells you can use against me, but somehow you've fooled the others into thinking that you can be made into a proper heir of the Black family, so I will give you the training necessary to fulfill that role. We'll start with simpler spells." And Sirius, to his bewilderment, found himself learning how to cast a nightmare hex with a coolly professional and snide Snape.

When the boys stumbled out two hours later, Sirius had mastered most of the Level One spells of the "Dark Arts Essentials", as Sirius mentally dubbed the ranking system for the unorthodox curses and spells. He could cast spells that forced a person into an unnatural sleep for twenty-four hours, give someone nightmares until you lifted the spell, cause loss of balance, conjure some fearsome animals: snakes, lions, human sized predator birds, and bears among them. And he didn't know what to make of Snape anymore.

The bastard was still a bastard. Sirius knew that hadn't changed. But it was like the volatile, explosive boy Sirius knew from Hogwarts had been replaced by a acidly-smart and intensely focused person who couldn't, no matter how Sirius tried, be provoked into a rage. _Just who is the real Snape anyway? The slimy wanker from school who's way too Dark and sneaky to be any good, or the acidic but efficient—and _skilled—_Snape here, in his element as it were, surrounded by Dark Arts aficionados? Oh, he's still way too interested in Dark stuff for anyone's good, and obviously he's good at it. In fact, I don't understand how we ever managed to get one up on him at Hogwarts. He's obviously good enough with his wand to retaliate, even if most of the spells he would use would probably get him in trouble. Still, I don't think he cares, since he gets so many detentions anyway. So why is he holding back at school? _Sirius didn't know the answers to any of his blossoming questions, and he doubted Snape would tell him if he asked. He had to content himself with rejoining the group for a final lecture from Nott before being turned loose for the rest of the evening.

**-x-x-x-x-x- **

"How did your lesson with Snape go?" Evan wanted to know. He was lounging in a transfigured armchair in Sirius' room, while Sirius sprawled out on his bed.

"Fine. I don't understand him, though," Sirius complained.

"Oh, don't worry. No one understands him. Not even himself, or Lucius Malfoy, I suspect," Evan laughed, running a hand through his blond locks.

"What does Lucius Malfoy have to do with him?"

"You didn't know? Lucius Malfoy is his…well, his guardian I suppose you could call it. Or sponsor. Either way works."

Sirius frowned. "How does this guardian thing work? I thought Snape had a father?"

"You really don't know?" Evan sat up, regarding the dark-haired boy on the bed thoughtfully. "But then I suppose you being in Gryffindor would have cut you off from most of the people who know about Snape, and he tends to be closed-mouth and very secretive about himself in particular, everything in general. Keep that in mind, by the way—if you ever need someone capable of keeping a secret, Severus is the best. You just have to make sure you have something he wants to keep him from deliberately spilling, but that's a Slytherin trait anyway. Even I would do the same with any information I got my hands on." Even smiled comfortably, a trifle smugly.

"Oh, but you wanted to know about Snape. I'm afraid I don't know everything. I suspect that only Lucius Malfoy knows everything, and perhaps not even him. But I do make it my business to know everything I can. So, Snape. It's not widely known, but he is _not _a Pureblood." Evan chortled at Sirius' face.

"But—I thought—Slytherin, and he comes to this every summer—" Sirius stammered, taken aback at this revelation.

"Oh yes, but there _are _a number of Halfbloods in Slytherin. They simply have to work harder to fight against the bad blood. Severus Snape was born to the youngest daughter of the Prince family, all of whom have died now except for Severus, and his father was pure Muggle. His mother died in his second year at Hogwarts. According to old Pureblood rules, in that situation the Muggle parent has no say over the child. Lucius Malfoy stepped in to become his legal guardian, and I've heard rumors that Snape's old man actually sold his rights to his kid for more alcohol, and that when they pulled Snape out of the house, he wasn't in good shape. Cuts and bruises and a couple broken bones, that's what I heard from my parents back then." Evan grimaced—Sirius, both fascinated and horrified at such a bleak past he hadn't known his classmate possessed, didn't know whether Evan had pulled a face at Snape's misfortune or at the disgusting ways of Muggles.

"The Prince family had by then all died out except for a distant cousin who lived in Russia and wasn't willing to take on the responsibilities of a child, so Snape began staying at Malfoy Manor and Lucius petitioned for his right to join the Summer Gatherings, despite his unfortunate Muggle of a father. The summer after second year was the first time he came to _Chateau Malfoy_, and he's been coming back ever since. In return, he's already pledged his service to Lucius in Potions. Even as a kid he was unnaturally talented with brewing. Lucius hasn't had to go to an apothecary for a potion for three years. Then Snape's father died." Evan's eyes glowed in a way Sirius didn't like, a gleam that uncomfortably reminded him that Evan, for all his apparent friendly manners, was a Slytherin, followed much of the old Pureblood tradition, and was probably sitting at the head of their table for a reason. "Officially, Snape's father died from a fatal heart attack, accumulating numerous cuts and bruises when he fell down the stairs and onto a pile of empty alcohol bottles, just about seven days ago. _Unofficially…" _Evan trailed off, looking pointedly at Sirius for him to draw conclusions.

Sirius sat back, his mind whirling with all the new information he'd just received. He'd known the barest facts about his opponent's background—he knew his mother was dead, and his father hadn't been the affectionate kind. Sirius had gathered that much from several off-hand comments Lily had made once. He'd brushed it off. _No one _could have as bad a family as he, after all. His own mother still featured prominently in several heart-stopping nightmares, and his father had simply stood back and let it happen. _Like the time she whipped me bloody for being Sorted into Gryffindor. Or the time she blinded me temporarily because she heard that I was dating a Halfblood. _But a parent who drank, who beat his own young child and sold him like a sack of potatoes to the highest bidder…Sirius shuddered. _If that's true, I don't blame him for joining the Muggle-haters here! Doesn't give him the right to be an ass the rest of the time, though. _

Snape's words earlier that day floated back into his mind. "_It's considered Dark because if the caster is powerful enough and angry enough, the very heart could cramp and give the person a heart attack. Excruciating way to die. I, too, am capable of…murder." _Sirius shuddered and changed the topic.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Severus regarded his hands. He was alone in his room. Like always. He preferred it that way. It was better than the times when he _wasn't _alone…it was just better this way. His hands seemed foreign to him, pale things that rested limply on his drawn-up knees as he leaned against the bed's headboard. These hands didn't belong to him, they belonged to a stranger—a _murderer. _

Oh, he'd killed before. Everyone who'd been here a couple summers had, at some point or another, watched the life leak from a suitably innocent creature—perhaps puffskeins one year, rabbits the next. Nott, always efficient and focused on preparing them, had made sure that none of his students 'graduated' his class without having a part of their soul dying, and he'd come up with the brilliant idea of making everyone to take care of the animal for the week before forcing them to kill it. He'd thrown up the first time, and been punished for his weakness. Now, Severus could kill whatever they put in front of him in at least a dozen ways, perhaps more. Not with the _Avada_—that wasn't taught until they were sure you were old enough to understand how serious it was, the Unforgivables. But what did it matter? Severus considered the Death curse one of the milder Dark curses albeit its illegal status and automatic life sentence in Azkaban because it killed instantly with no pain, no realization—one minute you're alive, the next you're not. Simple as that.

But all the animals in the world hadn't prepared him for an actual human being. He'd borrowed one of the Malfoy unregistered wands. Lucius had promised that his graduation gift would be an unregistered wand for himself, but until then, he had to make do with one of the generic ones the Malfoys kept on hand. Lucius and Lord and Lady Malfoy had known his intentions without him speaking it. They'd groomed him for this task, after all, the final proof of his renunciation of the unworthy part of his blood. It was the only way they'd spared his father's miserable life at all, for daring to raise his eyes, let along his hand, to a Pureblood woman. He'd prepared himself, gone home, waited for his father to arrive back home from his day job at the factory. Tobias Snape had come stumbling home at one in the morning, drunk and mean. A specially-prepared potion had sobered him up soon enough, with the unfortunate effect of copious amounts of vomit.

Severus remembered, as if in a dream, how he'd told his father exactly what he thought of him, all the hurt, the pain, the repressed anger, the drinking and beating and abusing his wife and son. Tobias Snape had laughed in his face and told him to stop being so high and mighty. And with that, Severus had the excuse he'd been waiting for, the reason to let out the potent Dark magic he'd avidly learnt in hopes first of defense and protection, then for revenge.

_Sectumsempra _had been invented purely for his father's benefit, meant to emulate the cuts Tobias Snape had given his young son and cowed wife with the broken beer bottles. It was one of those cuts that had finally killed Eileen Prince, as she slowly bled out from a jagged cut inflicted by her husband and Tobias Snape, drunk as always, had broken Severus' nose and arm. Severus had watched his mother die, the dullness of her eyes fading into darkness. It had been then that he'd sworn that one day he would watch his father die the same way he'd watched his mother die.

_Pulpapulpito _wasn't his invention. The muscle-cramping curse had been in a side-note in one of Lucius' books, and Severus had perfected it his fourth year at Hogwarts, practicing on the rats and mice the house-elves brought him. And slowly, over the years of Summer Gatherings, Severus had envisioned Tobias Snape in place of whatever they had him kill.

But it didn't change the fact that Severus was now a true murderer. He'd killed his own father, watched impassively as the unregistered wand, held in his rock-steady hand, scored Tobias' face, arms, legs, and chest cut after cut, watched as the impersonal wand aimed for the cardiac muscle and seized hold, squeezing and squeezing until the man in front of him had convulsed one last time on the stained, dank floor of the house at Spinner's End and fallen still, bloodshot eyes still open in horror and agony. It had been easy work to push him into the heap of ever-present bottles and listen to them shatter and drive their jagged edges into the dead flesh, easy work to erase his magical presence and silently Apparate to _Chateau Malfoy_ where he'd avoided the Malfoys and gone straight to the bathroom and locked himself inside, scrubbing his flesh raw and washing off the Muggle blood the Purebloods considered less than human.

_I am a murderer. I've killed another person, a helpless Muggle no less. I am truly Dark now. I'm sorry, Lily. You were the only one who tried to help me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry… _

**Author's Notes**

_The chapter title is both a musical and mundane term. An overture in general is someone in some way approaching another for something, "making an overture." Rather obvious- this chapter digs into Severus and Sirius interaction. Musically, an overture is an instrumental introduction to a composition, whether it be an instrumental, choral, or dramatic piece. A concert overture, on the other hand, is an instrumental piece that stands alone and is usually based on a literary theme. _

_*Bonjour, mes jeunes amis – hello, my young friends_

_My French comes from Google Translate. Forgive any errors now and in future chapters. _


	3. Bittersweet

**Disclaimer: No Polyjuice, no ownership.**

Two weeks. It had been two weeks now, Sirius realized, that he'd been blackmailed into coming to _Chateau Malfoy_. Sirius didn't want to admit it, but the time had blurred and his stay so far hadn't been as excruciating as he had thought it would be. He spent most of his time with Evan, and found that Evan was, despite his tendency to order others around and his unfortunate belief in Pureblood supremacy, an enjoyable companion to horse around with. More polished than James, Remus, and Peter, but fun nonetheless. None of the others talked to him much, except for the occasional small talk and the polite greetings. Sirius was ashamed, as he stared at the date, to discover that he'd barely thought about the other Marauders at all in the past two weeks. Instead, he'd been practicing dubious Dark spells with a reticent Snape (on whom he hadn't gotten any additional information), observing the continuous battle for supremacy among the Purebloods with some amusement and interest, exploring the stuffy mansion and extensive grounds, and swapping jokes with Evan. Peter hadn't shown up this year, and Evan had shrugged and said that the invitation had been sent but refused this time. Apparently, Peter would simply be staying home this summer to study Potions and retake the end-of-year exam. _Yes, I now remember that—he muttered something after the exam about failing because he'd forgotten everything he studied. Must have gotten special dispensation from Slughorn and the Headmaster to redo his grade. Good for him. _

Still, he'd not expected to feel the twinge in his heart telling him that he was betraying his friends somehow by being here in the presence of the enemy and not _loathing _it. _Well, they'd be happy that I'm not dead or tortured, _Sirius thought defiantly. _If they're my friends they'll be glad for me that I'm semi-enjoying myself rather than languishing._ But today, something had changed. Alodie, who had been drilling rules into their heads to prepare them for the Pureblood world as an adult rather than a child or teenager, breezed in not in her usual simple robes with her family crest embroidered on them, but instead in vivid wine red silk robes, cut revealingly. Her glossy locks tumbled appealingly around a perfect, sculpted face, down to the cherry-stained lips. Sirius could practically hear the jaws of every boy in the room _thunk_ as it hit the floor. Hard. Sirius was sure he was one of them.

"_Salut_! Today, we learn about new things, _oui_? Pick up those jaws, boys. It is not seemly," she reprimanded, an alluring smile on her face. Sirius quickly composed himself, a little embarrassed at his hormonal reaction. Beside him, Evan quickly pulled himself together as well, as did all the other boys. Sirius was glad that at least he wasn't the only one affected. Even the girls were staring, and Sirius detected more than one envious glance Alodie's way.

"We have been studying very hard, and I am very pleased with you. We begin now a new thing, very new indeed by Lord Malfoy has approved and I teach you this year." Her bright eyes scanned the quiet room. "We learn _seduction. Manipulation. _And we learn how to resist, how to see the truth in the temptations. _Comprenez-vous_?"

"_Oui_," they chorused as one. Alodie smiled, a very different smile than the one she usually wore.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

By the end of the first lesson in seduction and manipulation, Sirius was ready for the ice-cold shower that the West Wing boasted. Or the exhausting physical and magical training, even the Darkest curses, just anything to take his mind off the way the light had played off Alodie's soft hair, her sultry purr, the drifting scent of sandalwood, vanilla, and flowers, her sinuous curves…_Damn. _He hadn't been fast enough to claim the shower before lunch, so he tried thinking of unappealing things. _Dumbledore in a Santa outfit. Filch and Pince. Filch and Mrs. Norris. Filch and _anyone!

Thankfully, the table hid any incriminating evidence, and just thinking about Filch's sexual preferences made him gag enough for the pressure to ease. _Merlin and Morganna, I've never seen anything like it! And here I thought Bertha Jorkins in Hufflepuff was hot. She couldn't hold a candle to Alodie. _

The lesson had been, according to Alodie, a disaster and proof enough that the lessons _needed _to be taught. Without a single spell cast but that of her own manipulation, Alodie had managed to coax every single one of the boys into doing something for her without them realizing that they were being herded. The girls had had a little more success, since none of them had been dealing with sky-level hormones—until Evan's father, Mister Rosier, had walked in to assist Alodie. Sirius could see where Evan got his people skills from. Mister Rosier had had the girls in the class wrapped around his finger in mere moments, and even the boys hadn't been completely immune to his boyish charms.

Evan Rosier and the impervious Snape hadn't been able to hold out against Alodie either, although they'd lasted a little longer than most. Sirius was proud that he'd managed to spot and avoid one manipulation, although he'd promptly fallen for the next one. Lord Malfoy had viewed the abashed group of students as they'd trudged in with disturbing amusement, the perennial smirk larger than normal. And Karston Nott, when he'd had them in front of him for the afternoon, had outright laughed at their expense. Sirius wasn't the only one blushing the entire day.

He'd worked his way up the levels with Snape when the others dueled. Level One had been distressingly easy, and Sirius found himself unable to stop himself from dreaming of ways he could use the hexes for pranks next year, although he had already decided that it probably would be best to avoid pranking Snape with them, since he couldn't be sure the Snape wouldn't decide next year was the year he didn't care what the consequences of retaliation were. After all, Sirius still didn't know what had held Snape back from defending himself better or hexing Sirius and James silly.

They'd skipped Level Two and Three, Snape telling him that no one went in the order of the levels. "_You're an idiot if you do," _Snape had told him bitingly when he'd asked. "_Level Two is mind magic, Level Three is specific to Legilimency and Occlumency. You'd be asking to go mad if you don't master the truly Dark spells first before attempting to do anything with your mind. Mind magic is so much more intimate. You have to touch, or understand, your victim's mind before inflicting damage to it. It can drive a person insane if they aren't prepared."_

They'd gone straight to Level Four, which had taken a full week to master. Spells that burned or flayed skin, curses that turned your insides out—_literally_, or caused excruciating heart attacks and cramps in other places, and hexes that could flay a person to pieces weren't exactly easy for Sirius to persuade himself to cast.

_"How can you cast such Dark spells, knowing that the person at the other end of your wand is suffering immeasurable pain and might die from it?"_

_ "How can you play pranks on people who have not provoked you other than the fact of existing and offending your sensibilities? It's the same concept as whatever was going through your pea-sized brain when you sent me to the Whomping Willow."_

_ "But I wasn't thinking! I didn't _mean _for that to happen…"_

_ "Stop lying. Or at least, stop lying so obviously. It's disgraceful."_

_ "I'm not!"_

_ "Just imagine someone you hate at the end of your wand. You can pretend it's me if you wish." Sirius aimed at the stuffed dummy Snape had dragged out from somewhere, and thought about his mother threatening to expose or kill Remus. The stuffing exploded out of the life-sized doll and rained down on the two boys. _

_ "Acceptable. Again."_

Level Five spells, Snape curtly informed him, were the Unforgivables and _that _would be a topic of later discussion. They went back to Level Two, and Snape spent a day droning about theory until Sirius wanted to scream and perform his newly developed Dark spell repertoire on him.

"I get it!" he finally exclaimed in exasperation, interrupting Snape's speech on the mind. "Can we get to down to it already?"

Snape leaned back, tipping the legs of the chairs they'd dragged in after getting tired of standing or sitting on the floor. Sirius suppressed the urge to kick the chair out from under him. After a moment, as Snape surveyed him with an unfathomable gaze, the dour boy thumped back to the ground. "So, you think you understand the basics of Legilimency and mind magic?"

"_Yes," _Sirius ground out. Just because this Snape was less slimy than the one at Hogwarts didn't mean the bat didn't irritate him to no end.

"Then I'm sure you can defend yourself against me, correct?" Without waiting for an answer, Snape attacked.

_Sirius was screaming as Mother locked him in the cupboard, in the dark with the spiders and even worse, _the Boggart. _He'd be good, he would stop talking to the Blood Traitors, if only Mother would let him out before—She was standing in front of him, taunting him. It wasn't her, it was the Boggart! He tried to convince himself, but _she _was advancing and her face told him he was in for it…_

_ Sirius was watching all of Hogwarts as the hat cried "Gryffindor!" and everyone fell deadly silent. A _Black _in Gryffindor?…_

_ Sirius was gripped in an icy-cold horror of realization as James spun around. "You did _what? _Sirius, Moony will kill Snape, or at the very least, bite him! What were you _thinking? _Maybe you're more like your family than I thought…"_

_ Sirius was staring forlornly at Regulus as his baby brother turned and walked away, his words echoing down the hallway. "Don't touch me, Blood Traitor. You disgust me. I wish you weren't my brother."…_

_ Sirius was furious as he realized that his own mother was threatening to kill or expose his best friend, blackmailing her own son to go to France…_

Sirius found himself face down, shaking, on the floor. A shadow fell over him. _Snape. _Before he could wonder what the vindictive boy had in store in for him, he felt a wiry hand grip his arm firmly and haul him upright. Panting, still reeling from the memories that had flashed across his mind, Sirius glared hatefully at the expressionless wizard. "How _dare _you Legilimize me, you disgusting beast?"

"Would you have understood the power of mind magic otherwise?"

"You could have _told…" _Sirius cursed as he realized that that had been exactly the point of all the boring theory. "Well, you could have _warned _me at the very least, or stayed away from the personal memories!"

"I did warn you, just before I Legilimized you. I didn't put a direction on the search, and usually if the Legilimens doesn't specifically prompt something, the person will direct the flow of memories themselves. The _theory _is that everyone, if you aren't a proficient Occlumens, has memories that are unresolved and which they have not reconciled themselves to—usually bad memories. These are the weakest points of the mind, and will appear first to the Legilimens. With Occlumency, one can build a wall around those thoughts, secret your most private memories in the deepest parts of your mind, and effectively stop others from snooping through your personal life."

"Is it hard to learn? Does everyone else know how to do this?" Sirius asked, his curiosity getting the better of his fury at revealing his innermost memories to his worst enemy.

"Yes, it is extremely difficult—some say harder than learning to perform an Unforgivable, since those are spells that only take an enormous capacity to hate, while mind magic is all about control. You'll find very few people who are actually experts at Legilimency or Occlumency. Most of us have mastered the skills enough to not be completely transparent, some even have a wall of sorts around their mind, and are able to skim the superficial inclinations of those who are wholly unprotected, not actual memories but more of an extra reading on a person. For instance, Rosier was immediately able to discern that you are just about wholly innocent of any Dark Arts before you got here, despite your family."

Sirius found that he didn't like that notion. "I don't want anyone to be able to get into my mind again like that, even if it's just to tell whether I've done Dark magic," he declared. He eyed Snape suspiciously. "How is it you got so far into my brain anyway? I thought you said that you were only able to tell character, or whatever?"

Now, the stony façade gave way to a haughty smirk. Snape said smugly, "I never said that I was at the same level as the others. I happen to be one of the few Masters of Legilimency _and_ Occlumency."

Now Sirius gaped at him. "_You?" _

"Don't sound so shocked, Black, I actually apply myself in school and out, unlike your little group of jokesters."

"No, but…" Sirius gave up and got up, perching on his chair again instead of the hard floor. "Well, O wise one, teach me the art of mind magic!"

The conclusion of their lessons was after two weeks spent in a whirlwind of cramming. Nott had informed them that he expected them to be ready by Saturday, and they'd gone through the spells so fast Sirius' head felt as stuffed as it could be. He now knew how to build a wall around his mind and the theory behind organizing his memories, although he hadn't managed to successfully do so yet. He could touch Snape's mind briefly, although he complained that it didn't feel like he was doing anything except for running into a stone wall. _"That's precisely what my shields are supposed to be doing," Snape pointed out._

_ "Well can't you take them down? Just for practice?"_

_ "Certainly not!"_

Sirius could also successfully cast several different attacks on the mind—spells he shuddered at casting. "Why are these all only Level Two?" he gasped when Snape had finished explaining a curse that trapped one in one's own mind in an endless nightmare.

Soberly, Snape had replied, "They technically do not _kill _a person. Spells that trap you in your own mind, spells that erase your entire memory, spells that coerce your mind to destroy itself, these all result in either a state of insanity, amnesia, or catatonia. They do not cause physical death."

Mister Nott had commented on Sirius' improvement in the melees and free-for-all fights. Sirius didn't know whether to feel proud for mastering such difficult spells, or horrified at how easily the Dark spells he'd always hated flowed from his wand and hit his targets—real living human beings, his schoolmates.

Nevertheless, it was evident at the end of the two weeks that Snape had been a more than adequate teacher, and Sirius a good student. Both returned to the dueling group, and Sirius found himself beating opponent after opponent while Nott stood at the side and his fierce eyes danced with some indecipherable emotion. After beating Mulciber, Avery, and Lestrange, Sirius suddenly found himself face-to-face with Snape. _Uh oh. _

They paced away from each other and turned around. Sirius gulped as he recognized the particular unholy light that came into Snape's black eyes. _This _was the Snape he was used to at Hogwarts, the one who would do anything to bring Sirius down. Snape wasn't going to hold anything back.

And he didn't. Sirius lasted four minutes and twenty-six seconds against his erstwhile teacher, frantically defending himself from the barrage of deadly spells that headed his way with remorseless ferocity, only able to get in several attack spells at all. Finally, three spells hit at once and his shields collapsed, the spell-impact landing him flat on his back, ears ringing.

After the traditional handshake, where Sirius saw double of Snape, both of whom were smirking, he limped over to the side along with where all the others had gathered and were watching. _One Snape smirking is bad enough, I don't need two! _Sirius thought, and tried to focus his vision.

Evan gave him a conciliatory pat and then walked out, wearing confidence like a fancy garment. "Ah, Mister Rosier. You are the defending champion, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Then Snape, you are the challenger. Go ahead."

Sirius watched in fascination as the two squared off. His vision was mostly back to normal except for the blurry edges to everything. He leaned over to the closest person to him, Anna Nott. "What's going on?" he whispered.

"We do this every year in dueling class—we have a mini tournament and get ranked according to our dueling skills. You should be proud of yourself, you just won yourself third place on the list," the girl hissed back.

"_What?" _

"Shh!" Sirius shut up, and Anna Nott murmured, "Snape used to be ranked near-last, but he shot to second two summers ago and he hasn't been defeated since—he's really good. Rosier's claimed first for as long as I can remember, though. They'll be fighting for first right now."

Sirius turned back to the duel with greater attentiveness. He hadn't known how skilled Snape was in dueling, although in hindsight he _had _been learning from the boy and had seen firsthand just how quick and fierce Snape could be with his wand. The fight was just beginning, and already the flashing spells back and forth were fast and furious. Sirius lost track of how many different spells he couldn't recognize were thrown back and forth between the competitors. They made a great contrast, Snape with his angular frame and sallow complexion and Evan with his athletic build and fair, almost girlish skin.

He held his breath as Snape dodged and a particularly ugly looking curse shot by his head, mere centimeters from touching him, and whipped his wand around to send a blazing trail of a fire-colored light towards Evan. Evan countered with a _Protego maximus _and suddenly Snape was ringed on all sides by a roaring blue fire, as high as his head and completely obscuring him. _What spell was _that? _Snape never taught me that! _It seemed as if the fight was over, that Evan had won, even as he strolled casually towards the ring of fire, and then—

Evan had to throw himself to the ground, the fire singing the top of his head and setting flame to a sleeve as the crackling fire suddenly flew backwards, revealing sweating, straggly, but completely un-burnt Snape. _Wow! _Evan managed to counter Snape's next curse as he got back on his feet with an inhuman speed, and the duel continued with even greater violence. Sirius wanted to look away when a sharp _crack _told him that a spell that grazed Snape had broken his wand hand, but was unable to do so as Snape, face screwed up in pain, _switched his wand to his left hand and sent another spell soaring towards Evan. _Beside him, the others murmured, as shocked as Sirius at Snape's ambidexterity. Evan was panting now, a bloody patch on his leg and a suspiciously black and crumbling expanse of skin on his shoulder, spreading towards his chest. And then Snape was shouting something, which was unusual since they'd both been casting silently—

"_Demensimperia!"_

And Evan's features went slack as he very slowly let the wand in his raised hand drop, eyes glazed over, then lunged for his wand in desperation, but it was too late and Snape had Summoned the wand into his one working hand along with his own wand, and with another command had bound Evan in a web of ropes.

There was complete and utter silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the two duelists. Sirius stared in bemusement at the scene. Then it was broken as Nott began to clap, and hesitantly, the others began to join in one by one, applauding Snape as he stood, dripping with perspiration, staring with naked disbelief and mingled turbulence at the lighter-haired lad whose own face was contorted in pure wrath.

"Congratulations, Snape. You are the dueling champion. Rosier, you're in second place, Black in third. The rest of you, work harder in your spare time. Dueling class is officially over. Snape, Rosier, go to the Blue Room and get yourself fixed up. Dismissed."

A house-elf approached the two boys, and Sirius continued to watch them until Snape had painfully passed Evan's wand back to him and all three of them disappeared with a snap of the house-elf's fingers. Then a voice at his elbow said loudly, "_Snape won!" _And with that, the others broke out into unabashed cheering.

They began to wander out in twos and threes, jabbering loudly about the exciting duel. Sirius frowned as he realized that Evan was being healed and probably wouldn't be in too good of a mood after being defeated by Snape. He sighed, and started for the door.

"What did you think of the duel?" Sirius blinked, and glanced back where Anna Nott was two steps behind him, shaking her red-brown hair from its tight ponytail.

"It was…vicious," he said cautiously.

Her own small face was guarded as well. "I see. Are you unhappy that Snape won?"

"I…well, I'm not fond of the guy, but hey, the best won right? And Snape was truly frightening out there. I'm sure Evan will be okay, even if he's a little bummed."

She regarded him with an unreadable expression in her aquamarine eyes, then tilted her head to one side. "Would you like to take a walk with me?"

"Oh…sure," he said, a little startled at the unexpected invitation.

They headed out, and began to wander the grounds, occasionally stopping for Nott to admire the carefully tended flowers. It was just beginning to get dark and the humid summer air was cooling slightly, the breeze carrying the soft hum of insects and rustle of verdant greenery. Sirius tucked his hands into his pockets and let himself enjoy the peace of the gardens and the splashes of color and imagination, all muted in the softer evening light.

"Do you consider Rosier a friend, Mister Black?" Nott asked at length, almost idly.

"Well, I wouldn't go as far as to call him my nearest and dearest. That's reserved for James and Peter and Remus," Sirius replied.

"But you think of him as a friend, nonetheless?" she persisted, reaching over to lightly brush the soft petals of a blushing rose with short but slim fingers.

"I suppose," Sirius said hesitantly. He cast his mind back over the past two weeks. "He's been the only one who's really approached me with more than meaningless conversations, and he's fun enough, although I'm not sure I agree with—" Sirius broke off, suddenly aware that it wasn't a good idea to share his innermost thoughts with a girl he barely knew. She could be reporting directly to someone, for Merlin's sake! But Nott pounced on his halted statement.

"Ah, so you disagree with Rosier on several issues?"

"Well yes, since I _am _a different person than him. I _am _allowed to have a different opinion, am I not?" Sirius said, affronted.

But she only pushed her hair back off her face, tucking a curl behind her ear. "I did not mean it to sound that way," she murmured.

Sirius subsided, glancing at the delicate witch next to him who didn't seem at all related to their rough teacher. "Sorry, Anna—uh, is it alright if I call you Anna? Every time I hear Nott, I have the urge to turn around and look for your father," he confessed awkwardly.

She laughed. It wasn't the lyrical laughter of Evan, or the sensual throaty purr of Alodie, not even the silver bells of Lily Evans', but it seemed to be more natural somehow. It was a human sound, complete with the unattractive gulps of air that comes from a good belly laugh. "Of course you may call me Anna," she said, amusement coloring her reply.

"Oh good. Thanks awfully. You can call me Sirius," Sirius said, relieved.

They strolled on for a couple more moments of silence, which Anna broke abruptly again. "Black—Sirius. You're proud of being a Gryffindor, correct? You value your House traits?"

"Yeah…why?"

"I'm being very un-Slytherin. My father would be disappointed in me," Anna muttered more to herself, it seemed. Then she stopped and turned to face Sirius fully. "If you wish your Gryffindor integrity to remain intact for the summer—indeed, for the rest of your life, I would advise you to stay far away from Evan Rosier and his father."

Stumped, Sirius opened his mouth to ask why. She went on before he could. "I can't…don't ask me to tell you what I am unable to share with you. I am already telling you too much by warning you. The adults are very intent on bringing you to our side, Sirius Black. You have a strong natural talent for magic. You've proved that by gaining third place after only two weeks of catch-up training. You would be an important asset to…certain extremists who look for trouble and strife in Britain. You were out of reach for a long time, at Hogwarts and best friends with the son of one of our fiercest opponents, but now Evan Rosier and his father Owen Rosier are being lauded by…certain people who pride themselves on charisma and leadership, for winning the black sheep of the Black family back."

Anna's voice was low, almost a whisper, her eyes serious. This was no joke. Sirius reeled back. If he was translating her hints correctly, _Lord Voldemort himself _was congratulating Evan and his father for having wooed _him, _Sirius Black, and brought him 'back into the fold'. Could he trust what Anna was saying? Had Evan really betrayed him? Surely not! Sirius opened his mouth to tell Anna Nott to stuff it, then paused. He could almost hear Remus' voice in the back of his head. _If you'd keep your temper and think things through more often, Sirius, you'd find yourself in a whole lot less trouble than you do. _Taking a breath, Sirius allowed himself to think about whether the Nott girl's words had any founding. He began to feel sick as images he'd tried to forget started to flood his mind—Evan, looking oddly smug at Snape's rocky past, Evan subtly encouraging Sirius' disgust at Snape, Evan, whose orders were always phrased as requests but was _always _obeyed, Evan, whose angelic face was terribly distorted with fury as Snape beat him in the dueling match, Evan and his veiled disdain for every other person at their table, Evan, who had carefully steered Sirius' thoughts away from Hogwarts and James and his other friends…

"Oh, _Merlin. _I think I'm going to hurl—that _bastard!_" Sirius spun around, ready to charge back to the mansion and confront Evan, only to have a small hand seize hold of him in a surprisingly crushing grip.

"Don't be stupid, Black! You can't go rushing back to accuse Rosier of anything! He'll kill you, or his father will, when they realize they've lost you! Black! _Sirius!" _

Sirius stopped dead, and then buried his head in his hands. "I feel like the pea-brained imbecile Snape's always calling me. I've been played like a _fool. _Even Peter would be see through Evan before this."

"It's not your fault," Anna soothed, her grasp on his arm loosening now that he seemed to have come to his senses. "All the Rosiers have always been extremely charismatic and charming when they exert a little effort, and Rosier Jr. is a particularly fast study. He took all of us in the beginning too. It was only after Snape that—" she stopped abruptly. Sirius turned to shoot her an inquiring look. Anna clapped a hand to her mouth. "Damn it, I shouldn't have said anything about him. I can't tell you anything about it, Sirius. I swore that I wouldn't, and I won't break that promise. If you want to know how Snape's involved, you'll have to ask him. None of us will tell you voluntarily."

"Shit, it's something bad isn't it? Why does Snape always have to be in the middle of bad news?"

"He hasn't had the greatest of luck—in his past, and now," Anna said softly, gazing away at something only see could see.

Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily. "Yeah, I heard some of it from Ev- from Rosier, and I think it's mostly true although Rosier seemed to be getting kicks out of it. And he implied that Snape had offed his father at the start of this summer."

Anna focused back on Sirius. "Please, don't mention any of this to anyone at school, do you understand? Especially not to the Headmaster or the professors, especially not to the Gryffindors. Not even your closest friends. It wouldn't do any good."

"I don't have much to tell them anyway, and surely the Headmaster knows Snape's family life," Sirius said, puzzled.

"You know more than you think. The Headmaster listens to your gang. Even if you voiced just your suspicions to him, chances are by nightfall, Snape would be expelled just on your testimony."

"Surely they can't—"

"Surely they can," Anna interrupted. "It's what drives so many of the students that have no blood connections to the Dark to retreat there in this era. Why do you think your friend Pettigrew was shipped here last summer? It certainly wasn't because he came from a rich Pureblood family—he's a muddled mix at best, since his grandparents on his mother's side are both Mudbloods and the Pettigrew line have had Mudbloods interspersed throughout their bloodline ancestry. His parents were both Slytherins, and when they were approached by some of our more influential people, they were willing to give their only son to a cause where he was promised a fair shot at rising to a top position. There are dozens more cases like that in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, and the Slytherins are mostly the children of Pureblooded families who will be forced to attend Summer Gatherings anyway—and we go willingly, because we have never been shown any indication that those like Dumbledore, like the Potters, would welcome us."

Sirius stayed silent. Anna gave him a small smile. "Well, it's not your fault of course, and not all the blame falls on the other side. Many of us feel trapped here, but this is the only way we know, and we aren't innocent enough to believe that we can just bow out. All of us have known for years that this is our future—one day we'll be the adults at that table in the Dining Hall, bowing to Lucius Malfoy instead of Abraxas, supporting whatever cause he supports, sending our children to learn how to defend themselves and retaliate by any means possible with Dark spells, teaching our children how to hate their classmates and walk with pride in themselves, hoping against hope that it will be our children and not another family's who ascend to the position of power so that you can't be controlled anymore. You still have a chance at out, Sirius. You have a friend in the son of one of the strongest Light supporters in Britain, and you have the favor of the Headmaster. If you can just hold out for the summer, you'll be safe—all you have to do is request sanctuary of Hogwarts, and Dumbledore will protect you so no one will be able to reach you, not your family, not mine, not Rosier's." Anna tentatively stretched out and clasped Sirius' hand in both of hers.

"Just promise me that you'll try to act as if nothing is wrong but distance yourself as much as you can from the Rosiers without making them mad. You don't want either Rosier angry at you. They are worse than the Malfoys." Anna shuddered, involuntarily closing her eyes.

Sirius finally found his tongue. "Did they do something to you?" he demanded, feeling unexpectedly protective.

Anna's lips curved in a sad smile. "The Rosiers have, at some point or other, displayed their anger to every other family or individual that might threaten them. Once is usually enough for most of us to stay clear of them. Why do you think no one has approached you to cultivate alliances or even a friendship? Only Snape is brave—or witless—enough to dare it, which is why my father placed him as your tutor and not any of the rest of us."

_Snape again. _Sirius was dying to know just how the skinny boy played into the dangerous world of Pureblood society, but Anna glanced up at the night sky and her eyes widened. "It's dark already! What time is it? We'll be late to dinner!"

Sirius dug in a pocket and pulled out a pocket-watch. "We have seven minutes to get back—if we run, we can make it, I think."

"Wait, I have a better idea." Anna let go of his hand and snapped her fingers smartly. "Dobby! Dobby!"

A muted pop signaled the arrival of a queer-looking house-elf. "Missy Nott calls?"

"Oh Dobby dear, I know we're not supposed to do it without permission, but Mister Black and I are going to be horribly late to dinner if you don't get us there quickly, and you know how your master treats latecomers…" Dobby's eyes widened, and he straightened proudly.

"Dobby will not let bad things happen to pretty miss! Missy Nott is too kind to Dobby, Dobby will help her trick Master!" The elf grabbed her hand and Sirius', and suddenly they were in the familiar hallway, a little ways away from the Dining Hall. "Dobby dares not go closer," the house-elf hissed. "Master Black and Missy Nott must walk from here. Dobby is going back to the Kitchens."

"Thank you, Dobby. You're a wonderful house-elf, if I could afford it I would buy you," Anna said quietly to the elf. Dobby's eyes overflowed.

"Missy is too kind! Missy Nott is the best, to think of Dobby so!" It wiped away its large, rolling tears on the towel it was wearing, and then disappeared.

Sirius made a note to ask Anna about the queer house-elf who would go against his Master's orders and squared his shoulders, feeling grimy from the duels and the walk, since he hadn't taken the customary shower afterwards. Well, Anna hadn't either, and she was walking with all the calm confidence of Narcissa Black towards the entrance, so Sirius wouldn't be ashamed either! He took a breath and entered.

They weren't late, but they _were _the last ones in. Lord Malfoy raised an eyebrow at them but made no mention of their disheveled appearance or entry together almost late. Sirius and Anna hurried to their seats. Anna was buried near the middle of the table, Sirius saw as he made his own way to the right-hand seat and dropped in.

The food appeared, and Evan turned to Sirius with an alarming glint in his eyes. "So, having a roll in the hay with Nott? Enjoy yourself?"

"No, we weren't doing anything like that!" Sirius protested. _How in the hell was I ever taken by your vapid charm, you demon? _

"Sure, sure," Evan said with a warm teasing smile.

"Really," Sirius insisted. He didn't want to destroy Anna's reputation. "She's too young for me. We were just walking. I wanted to get to know the others a little better since I've been mostly spending time with you, and she had nothing else better to do than stroll the Rose garden and listen to me natter at her."

"Well, if you do change your mind and decide to have a go at her, let me know. She's a sweet armful, too nice for my liking. I prefer mine more…_nasty," _Evan joked. _Or not. Come to think of it, many of the so-called jokes are probably Evan's true opinions. _Sirius decided that he really wasn't that hungry.

No one commented on Snape's win that afternoon. Instead, it was as if Avery and Lestrange were both desperately talkative tonight, as if they were keeping Evan's mind off _It. _Snape, from the glimpses Sirius snatched, acted as if nothing was wrong. He was just as reticent as usual. Anna also seemed perfectly at ease, discussing something with the girl several chairs down and across the table from her. _Damn Slytherins and their acting abilities. _Sirius hoped that he hadn't made Evan suspicious. Faking emotions successfully weren't exactly a strength of his.

Near the end of the dinner, Lord Malfoy stood, signaling for silence. "I hear from Karston that there are new rankings in the dueling matches," he announced, his voice mellifluous. "It is my pleasure to declare Sirius Black having claimed third place after only two weeks spent catching up on his deplorable lack of spell-knowledge. Evan Rosier is in second place, after a duel that lasted fifty-seven minutes and forty-eight seconds. And in first place, our new champion, Severus Snape, won the duel with a curse of his own invention. We all know and appreciate Severus Snape's ability to craft spells for our use, and he has proved that the surprise-factor in utilizing these spells can give us a real edge. Congratulations, Severus."

It seemed to be an unspoken signal for everyone to lift their glasses and salute Snape with it before take a drink. Snape himself kept a straight face, neutrally acknowledging their congratulations. Sirius caught a twisted grimace on Evan's face as he placed his own cup back down on the table, and wondered again just how Evan had managed to hoodwink him for two whole weeks before Anna had broken the illusion.

"I'm feeling rather tired after all the excitement, Sirius," Evan said. "I think I'll retire to bed early tonight, so I'm afraid that I won't be able to be any fun at all for you."

"No problem," Sirius responded, absurdly relieved. "Go ahead, I'm going to sit here for a while and let my food digest before I head up. I'll probably go to bed early too, it was an exhausting day. Sleep well."

"Good sleep to you as well, Sirius," Evan rejoined, rising gracefully as if he had never been injured before. He swept out along with the adults and the grumbling children. After a pause, Avery, Lestrange, and several of the others rose and departed as well, followed by the younger ones at the table. Finally, only a handful still sat at the table: two conversing in a low tone, Sirius, Anna, and Snape. Anna sauntered over to Sirius.

"Why don't we meet up at the Library after we both take showers?" she suggested. "You wanted me to explain that Arithmancy riddle to you…" she trailed off meaningfully.

Belatedly, Sirius realized what Anna was talking about. "Oh, yes. Arithmancy riddle. You had me stumped. I'll take a quick shower and meet you at the Library in half an hour?"

"Sure thing. They're letting us sleep in tomorrow because of the duels today, so we can stay up later than usual."

"Really?"

"Honestly, Black, you should remove the cotton fluff from your ears and listen for once. Oh, wait, your brain _is _cotton stuffing," Snape called in a derisive tone from his seat.

Sirius opened his mouth, but Anna beat him to it. "Ah, don't take your bad mood out on others, Snape. It doesn't do any good, you know."

_He's in a bad mood all the time, _Sirius thought but didn't say.

"Let me handle my own problems, _Nott. _You've got your own to worry about. Namely, that imbecile next to you."

"Good luck with that mood, Snape," Anna called back as she flounced out the door, her hand latching to Sirius' wrist and dragging him along.

**Author's Notes**

_This chapter's title refers to multiple events- Snape's victory over Evan Rosier is bittersweet, though the reason for it is not fully unfolded yet. Sirius' realization of Rosier's deviousness is bittersweet because he's lost someone he thought was a friend, but gained the truth and another potential friend in Anna. _


	4. L'ange dechu de la Rose

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize.**

The shadows in _Chateau Malfoy_, Sirius decided as he wove his way to the Library, were the most _active _shadows he'd ever seen. They flickered and moved eerily as if they wanted to pounce on you and swallow you into the darkness. Sirius cursed himself for his overactive imagination as he sped up, willing himself to get to the Library intact. _You're almost seventeen, almost an adult, Sirius Black, _he scolded himself. _You shouldn't be afraid of shadows. _

The residue fear of places in the shadow where a Boggart might hide had never left him, not after his mother had begun using the Boggart she'd captured as a means of punishment when he'd deemed "too young" to punish physically. When he was eleven, he'd gone to the library at Hogwarts and learnt by himself how to vanquish a Boggart—and his mother had quickly installed other punishments after seeing herself wearing neon-colored ridiculous Muggle clothing. Sirius had impertinently told her that his inspiration for the Riddikulus-form of his mother the Boggart had come from Remus' book on Muggle fashion through the ages in America. He hadn't been able to sit down for days after that, his bum and legs sore from the three different canes that she'd broken on him in her rage.

But the tiny, flickering fear of what lurked in the shadows still remained, and Sirius nearly ran the last stretch, yanking open the massive wooden door to the Library. The smell of old furniture and old books wafted to his nostrils, the smell of any good library. Anna was already there, sitting comfortably in one of the many scattered reading armchairs. She was dwarfed by the size of the chair, her reddish chestnut tresses sticking in awkward patterns on the high velvety back. "Hello, Sirius," she greeted him cheerily, putting down the book she had been reading, a rather heavy affair bound in the new-fangled stiff-board covers that were popular with publishers now because it was cheaper to produce than the traditional leather- or cloth-bound books and more resistant to wear than just ordinary parchment.

"Hi, Anna." He made his way over, picking another seat and reclining into the soft cushions with a relaxed sigh. "Ah…so nice to finally be comfortable after that horribly stiff dinner and that horrible ice shower. I don't know what Malfoy was thinking, installing those awful regulations!"

"You really should take more care with your words, Sirius," Anna reprimanded sternly. "The walls here have ears, and occasionally, eyes too."

Sirius frowned, partly in recollection. "That's what Snape said, the first day when I bumped into him."

"That was nice of him to warn you, then. Take this as your second warning, yeah? This is the _Chateau Malfoy_. They have ways of finding out what we say anywhere within the walls. It's harder to eavesdrop or spy outside, that's why I took you outside this evening."

Then why are you being so blunt now?" Sirius asked a little anxiously. He didn't like the idea of someone being able to listen to him, or see him. He had muttered a few derogatory comments about some of the Purebloods and his own family when he'd been alone in his room. _Umm…perhaps _more _than a few…crap. Note to self: do _not _talk aloud to self ever again. _

"Because I have every confidence in my spell-work and Snape's inventions," Anna replied. "He created a spell that shields all sound and keeps it within a bubble so no one can listen in on private conversations. I offered some suggestions on more subtle forms of privacy, and we came up with a layering of spells, all of which I've cast already and set to only include you and me."

"Cool. What spells?" Sirius wanted to know. He glanced around the antique hardwood bookshelves and rows of books interrupted only by a ladder and a narrow balcony running around several meters up for easier access to the higher books near the ceiling. He had only been to the Library twice, both briefly. This was the first time he had the opportunity to examine the room, which he decided was altogether lacking in warmth but still well-stocked with many essential books as well as rarer texts, not to mention several titles that were definitely Dark-related. Grandiose, of course, and far better stocked than the one at Grimmauld Place. Remus would have been in heaven though, despite the unwelcoming stiff formality of the room and the numerous books of questionably Dark subject matters. The sheer amount of books this library housed was quite overwhelming, although it left Sirius unmoved. He wasn't a book person.

"The Muffling spell, then a Gibberish hex and a Confundus interwoven on top of that, and a Blurring Vision jinx over that," Anna explained, tucking her hands under her thighs on the seat.

"That's brilliant," Sirius said in blatant admiration, stretching his long legs out. "You've made it seem to any observer that we're talking about inane things that will somehow make sense to the viewer because we're messing with _their _brains, and they can't see that our mouths are moving at a different time from the gibberish they're hearing. You're a smart girl, Anna Nott."

Anna blushed. "Well, it was really Snape who did most of the work. He invented the Muffling spell, and he was the one who came up with the idea of weaving the Gibberish hex and Confundus together instead of layering them separately."

"I bet he wouldn't have been able to do it without your help though," Sirius pointed out, unwilling to credit Snape with _too _much and leave Anna too little.

"Maybe," Anna allowed. She bit her bottom lip. "Did you want to continue our conversation from this evening then?"

"Sure would," Sirius said promptly.

"Fire away, I'll answer what I can," Anna promised. She curled her legs up on the large seat, and Sirius' attention was drawn to her small bare feet before they were tucked primly under the robe and out of sight again. Shaking his head mentally, Sirius launched into his first question.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_"Oh yes, Snape is going to be in for a bad summer. The Rosiers hold grudges and they _always _pay them back threefold. How visibly Evan will take his revenge all depends on Evan's mood, really, but even if you hear nothing and see nothing, I can assure you that by the time the month and a half we spend here is over, Snape will have paid many times over for beating Evan Rosier."_

_ "But that doesn't seem fair. Hey, I despise the git too. He's a foul-mouthed freak and a self-serving little sneak. But he won, fair and square, over Rosier. We all saw it—that was a phenomenal piece of dueling, better than I've ever seen before. He shouldn't have to pay for that."_

_ "There's the idealistic Gryffindor talking. I'm glad to see you haven't lost that yet. I'm afraid that this is the Pureblood world. Nothing is fair." Anna sighed and nestled down a little more in her chair. _

_ Sirius brooded a little, eyebrows furrowed. "So there's nothing we can do about it? Just wait and see what Rosier decides to do?"_

_ Anna's eyes were clouded with some emotion Sirius couldn't figure out. "Your innocence is so appealing, Sirius. No wonder so many girls, even the Slytherins, are in love with you despite your persistent bullying. You have somehow managed to keep hold of the kind of sense of justice that just doesn't exist in _our_ world, and a will to make it right. That's very attractive to a girl who has lived in a depraved society all her life and knows she has no choice but to be used and to use."_

_ "Uh…thanks? I don't know if that's a compliment or not."_

_ "Take it as a compliment, Sirius. You'll make some very fortunate girl a wonderful husband and sweep her off her feet."_

_ "I suppose. I just never really thought about marrying that much. I enjoy dating a variety of people too much," Sirius shrugged carelessly._

_ "People? As in both men and women?" Anna asked curiously. _

_ "Well, why not? It's common enough here, although I haven't seen very many _married _same-sex couples. I think most of them opt to stay in long-term relationships without the official marriage. But yeah, I appreciate the beauty in both guys and girls, although I don't think I'd _personally _date a guy, but I can admire. Shakespeare was a wizard and he did—a ton of his sonnets that were popular in the Muggle world were written about a young Pureblood man he met at some high society dinner." Sirius had been fascinated by that fact, actually, a bit of trivia Remus had told them some time ago. Sirius had known that Shakespeare was a wizard and that he'd been disowned from his family for daring to publish his works in the Muggle world (and being _popular, _even worse!). William Shakespeare was still popular, he'd heard, with the Muggles although the Wizarding World had first ignored his writing coldly as Muggle-cized and common and then resurged briefly in popularity with a younger generation, only to fall into obscurity again soon after and remained there to this day. But he hadn't really known much about the guy, who lived a wholly Muggle life after he was disowned. Remus had been a fan though, so Sirius knew plenty about Shakespeare now from Remus. _

_ "Well then, I amend my previous statement. You will make anyone a lucky person when you fall in love for the first time." Anna smiled at him, and Sirius appreciated that she had probably held back her additional comment that most likely went something like, _"You, _reading? Shakespeare?" _

_ "Thank you, Anna, although I still think I personally prefer girls. You'll make any guy—or girl—a proud person to be able to call themselves yours too, you know."_

_ Thanks, Sirius. Just men, thank you very much. I'm a conventional female with conventional appreciations for the male gender. The Rosiers may be utter bastards, but they're also _hot _bastards, unfortunately. That's why they're so successful. Personally, I consider Tanny Dover the bottom line in hotness."_

_ "Tanny?" Sirius tried to scan his memory for a Tanny in Hogwarts. "Oh, Tancred Dover, that sandy-haired Hufflepuff in your year, right?" he asked, vaguely recalling a rather buff, dimple-cheeked and good-natured boy. Sirius couldn't remember if he'd ever heard the Hufflepuff say two words, though… _

_ "That's him. It's too bad I don't have any classes with him, he's simply divine-looking, and he's so shy that he certainly isn't like any of the other arrogant males I'm used to. Pureblood too, so my father can't object to my interest, although I doubt a guy like Tanny would ever look at a girl like me."_

_ "What are you talking about? You're a beautiful girl and a great catch for any guy."_

_ "He's…he's so _nice, _so sincere and polite and chivalrous. He's a loyal friend—well, he _is _a Hufflepuff. And I'm a Slytherin. I supposedly eat babies for breakfast and torture Muggles for fun, remember?" Anna said sarcastically._

_ "Just approach him and let him get to know the intelligent girl I know you are. He'd be insane not to fall in love with you after that."_

_ Anna sighed, shaking her head slowly. "I doubt it. And besides, I think even if _I _didn't scare him off, my family would. I really don't want to drag him or his family into the Dark affairs that complicate _my _life. He'd be swallowed whole by it. It wouldn't be fair to him."_

_ "It's not fair to _you."

_"But I grew up with it. Just because I have a silly little crush now doesn't mean I don't belong here in the pit of vipers, so to speak. I'll outgrow the crush, but I can't outgrow my family or it's affiliations."_

_ "But-"_

_ "Just drop it, Sirius," Anna stated flatly, looking away. "It's not going to do any good, and it's a depressing topic. I'd rather not worry it to death when it doesn't change a fact. Was there anything else you wanted to know about how to act during the rest of the summer?"_

They'd stayed up until midnight, talking about many things: Sirius' family, his friends, Anna's life and eventual future, what was in store for the summer yet, how to avoid the Rosiers, and the duel that afternoon and it's inevitable consequences, among other topics. Sirius ghosted along the hallways, heading towards his part of the West Wing (There were, he'd discovered, four other sections of the West Wing, all of which housed guests for the summer. He was in the first turning—Anna's room was the third corridor turning, along with all the other girls.

As he turned the conversation and sudden friendship with Anna over in his mind, Sirius trotted down the silent carpet towards his room. As he opened his door, a noise startled him into looking up. Coming out of the room he knew belonged to Evan was—Snape?

Yes, it was Snape. The boy seemed even more slumped than normal, his hair a straggly mess shielding his face as he carefully clicked Evan's door shut behind him. Sirius must have made an inarticulate sound, because Snape's head jerked up and a panicked expression crossed his face before it drained, along with every vestige of energy Snape seemed have. For a long instant, the two long-time enemies stood and stared at each other. Then Snape broke the eye-contact and turned away, hair swinging forward to block his face from Sirius as he walked towards his own room. Sirius couldn't seem to form anything coherent as he watched Snape's trek from Evan's door to the last door at the end of the hallway, still wasn't able to speak or stop Snape as he entered his room and shut his door without looking back.

Perhaps his inability to utter a word had to do with the fact that, in the instant they'd made eye contact, Sirius thought he'd glimpsed a glimmer of vast, mute anguish in Snape's normally opaque black eyes. It had felt like he was perched on the edge of a giant starless vortex of space, swirling violently and dangerously close to swallowing him head-first into an infinite free-fall of nothingness, of mad despair, of complete desolation—as if only Snape's vaunted control over his mind kept him from simply allowing himself to topple over and give in to the pull of his dumb desperation. _Just what had happened between Snape and Evan while he'd been in the Library? _Sirius wondered. And then he wondered if he hadn't been seeing things wrong, that he'd merely mistaken Snape's worn and well-practiced sneer and malice as something else due to Anna's description of him. _Maybe I'm just seeing things. Snape doesn't show any emotion other than snark and vindictiveness. I'm just tired. It's been a long day. That's it. I must just be extremely tired. _Having half-convinced himself that he'd been envisioning things and reading Snape all wrong—_since when am I able to read Snape at all anyway? _he asked himself—Sirius purposefully got ready for bed, carefully avoiding any remembrance of that split-second when he _might _but probably _not _have seen despair in Snape's eyes. _Blast Slytherins anyway. _Still, it left another question: what _had _Snape been doing in Evan's room?

Sirius decided that he was _not _going to think a single thing more, and resolutely shut his eyes. It was time to go to sleep.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

He had no chance for the next four days to speak to Anna at all. Evan kept him close, and Sirius could think of no legit excuse to break away without either rousing any misgivings or provoking Evan's jealous ire. And Evan was _very _possessive, Sirius had discovered. It was in the lines of his lean, muscular body as he fluidly, almost insignificantly clapped Sirius "all in good fun" on the back, or propelled him casually with one hand on his arm or shoulder. It was in the imperious slant of his gaze that was always present, even during his crudest jokes or when he was doubled over laughing from a story Sirius told—and Sirius found himself desperately digging around for tales of past pranks and escapades in an effort to keep their conversations off the topic that Evan was suddenly steering him towards, the Blood battles (as Sirius had come to think of the growing tension between Purebloods and Muggleborns). Still, Sirius knew he was no actor, no Slytherin. He hadn't had to grow up in the nest of backstabbing adders like the others. He was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were notorious for their inability to lie well and for wearing their hearts on their sleeves. Every time Sirius faltered under Evan's study, every time an awkward silence fell and Sirius had to restrain himself from doing something rash to the despicable boy, every time that Sirius was visibly taken aback by something Evan said, Sirius could see the suspicions flicker briefly across Evan's seraphic visage.

Sirius still didn't know what had occurred between Rosier and Snape that night when he'd arrived back at his room and seen Snape exiting. Snape showed no signs of the mad depression Sirius thought had glimpsed, and Sirius deliberated that he must have been mistaken after all like he'd been telling himself, that he'd been hallucinating and seen something that wasn't there. Of course, Snape would _have _to be the only Occlumens in the mansion—Sirius was able to snatch blurred readings of other people's moods, another reason he'd realized just how possessive Evan Rosier was, but with Snape, Sirius ran into the perpetual granite wall. By Thursday, Sirius was going mad.

_Damn it! _He swore mentally, staring moodily at the powder blue wallpaper of his room that had become almost like a prison. _I'm just not cut out for this! If I were Remus, I'd do very well here, since he has that skill for fading into the background when he wants to. If I were James—well I wouldn't have fallen for Evan Rosier's bullshit in the first place. If I were Peter…well, Peter _was _here last year and he probably was so cowed by all the Dark Arts and dangerous people priming themselves to follow the self-styled Lord Voldemort that he effectively placed himself at the bottom rung of the table and so, insignificant. But no, I just had to be _myself, _and I'm in the middle of a charade I can't keep up, isolated from the one girl who seems to be on my side, and _still _insatiably curious. _

It was Sirius' irrepressible curiosity, even in the face of obvious danger, that would lead him from the edge of Pureblood politics to the middle of the damn river.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It was something no one else would have dared to do—no one else, that is, but Severus Snape. It was practically inviting the devil for tea and torture. Severus found it eternally ironic that "Rosier" was the name of a fallen angel, patron devil of corrupted love and sexual temptations. It certainly suited the Rosiers.

No one else would dare beat Evan Rosier. Not in a duel, not in a fight. Mister Nott knew it well, and didn't force anyone to. He had a daughter he wanted to protect, after all. But Severus Snape's life was hellish already anyway. And oh, how he had wanted that one moment of staring down at his tormenter, victorious, powerful, in control! He'd bided his time. He'd accepted the challenge of teaching Black when no one else dared risk rousing Evan Rosier's possessive jealousy. He'd watched as Black become completely sucked into the siren's song of Rosier Jr. like the naïve little Gryffindor he'd been. And he'd sunk all his efforts into creating the spell, a masterpiece to bring down Evan Rosier. _Demensimperia—_it was his first truly complicated spell that had worked in practice and not just in theory. He'd created low-level spells that affected people physically before, Sectumsempra being one of the nastiest._ Demensimperia_ was his first successful _mind-control _spell, working in Level Two Dark magic. It was less of a control as a suggestive, seductive, spell, insidiously inserting itself in a person's mind, convincing them that they _wanted of their own mind and will _to please the caster, _wanted _to do whatever the caster wished of them. It wasn't the heavy-handed _Do-it _siren callof the Imperius curse, but a lighter hand and smaller influence, easily fought off—but, as he'd demonstrated in that duel with Rosier, effective if the victim _wasn't expecting it _and didn't know what it was. It was paradoxical, really, that Evan Rosier himself had been the inspiration for the curse in the first place.

And so he'd fought, and he'd won—and even as Evan forced him again and again to pay dearly for his victory, Severus could not bring himself to regret having done so, having seen Rosier helpless and in his full control at the end of his wand. His punishments were always out of sight of the others, especially Black. Rosier didn't want to scare the innocent heir of the Black family off, not when the Dark Lord had personally congratulated Rosier on his success so far. Severus felt slightly lucky in that regard. The more time Rosier spent wooing Black and keeping that idiot of first class order close by, the less time he had to spare on_ disciplining_ Severus. Of course, that fact only made Severus despise Black more for being the unknowing recipient of Severus' forced gratitude.

A distinct footstep outside his door had Severus' head jerking up in dismay. _Not again!_ _No one _came to his room. It was past eleven at night. That meant it could only be one person. Steeling himself as the numb dread began to seep into his bones, leaving him cold and brittle, Severus watched the door impassively as the standard wards and locking mechanisms the Malfoys put on every door fell, and the knob turned easily without sound.

"Hello, Severus. I hope you didn't miss me too much."

**Author's Notes:**

_The chapter title, 'L'ange déchu de la rose,' is my online translator shot at French, and ought to mean 'The Fallen Angel of Rose'. (I couldn't add the accent in the actual title, but it's there.) Pretty obvious who it refers to, as the explanation for fallen angel comes in the chapter and Rosier in French means rose tree or rose bush. HP Lexicon, as well as other websites, tells me that Rosier is one of the lesser fallen angels that took the nosedive with Satan. Rosier was the patron devil of tainted love and seduction. _


	5. City of Woe

**Disclaimer: The usual.**

All hell broke loose.

Sirius had known, in the back of his mind, that the charade couldn't last forever. He'd just been hoping it would last longer than six days. But of course, that hadn't happened.

It had started out innocently enough. They'd gone through their routine lessons (Sirius feeling exceptionally proud as he successfully thwarted von Fuhler's attempts at seducing and manipulating him in their last practice role-play of the lesson), and Evan had invited the others to an excursion outside of the Malfoy estate, with the permission of Lord Malfoy. All of them, even Snape, had joined him. Sirius was going stir-crazy, cooped up in _Chateau Malfoy_, even with the lovely and extensive gardens. They'd walked out with a sense of relief, talking loudly, acting like the teenagers they were for once instead of the mini-adults and Dark wizards and witches Sirius had seen in _Chateau Malfoy_. Indeed, even Evan had seemed more like the carefree boy Sirius had thought him to be at the beginning, and less like the monster Anna had revealed him to be.

_"There's a Muggle village close by," Mulciber commented. _

_ "We've never visited it. None of our parents would approve." _

_ "Oh come on, Lestrange. Ease up a little. None of our parents are _here, _are they? Besides, my father as much as admitted to having the same curiosity about Muggles at our age. Said that it's natural, and we'll outgrow it." Mulciber eyed Lestrange condescendingly. "Unless you're _scared, _of course…"_

_ "I am not scared of some filthy Muggles!" Lestrange looked indignantly at his companion, and a little ways ahead of them, Evan turned his head._

_ "Well then it's decided. We'll go and examine the Muggles." His tone brooked no argument. Sirius was just as curious as any of the others—he'd ventured into Muggle London before, but he'd never seen Muggle country living up close. Would it be the same? Remus said that he'd read that it would be less populated. He didn't notice the fearful glance exchanged between Anna and her closest friend there, Charlotte Greengrass, as they slowed and dropped near the back of the group the furthest they could from Rosier in the pretense of admiring a particularly glossy robin perched on the low branches of a nearby tree._

_ It was dusty. And it smelled like animals and dung. Sirius decided he liked the polluted city better as he disdainfully stepped around a suspicious brown heap that he thought might be some sort of droppings—it looked like the mooncalf droppings they'd had to clean up after one Care of Magical Creatures lesson, so the corresponding Muggle animal would most likely be cow? Either way, the place was a far cry from the stately wealth of the estate less than a mile away._

They'd used Concealing spells, and they hadn't needed it much anyway. Only the animals were there to observe them, and the occasional leathery-skinned Muggle farmer buried in his fields or rosy-cheeked children assisting their parents or, in some cases, skiving off with their friends. It was mostly an uneventful sightseeing trip, a chance for them all to watch the alien race live and work entirely without magic. It was on the way back that the trouble had started, and it had only escalated from there.

_ The dog snarled menacingly at them from the side of the road leading away from the village. He was a dusty black mongrel, his hackles raised and his teeth exposed as his lips curled back derisively at the invaders of his territory, the strangers whom he had smelt and but not seen. These trespassers had suddenly and unnaturally appeared right where their people-scents were coming from but had only been empty space before. _

_ If it hadn't been so dusty and grime-encrusted, almost brown instead of black like it should have been, they would have thought it a Grim. But it was obviously a Muggle dog making sure that these foreign humans left his town and his people alone, and it might have been some pent up anger that Evan still harbored—or simply his own torture-loving personality that sparked the attack on the "filthy Muggle dog." Sirius would never know, but suddenly Evan was smirking cruelly as the dog whimpered and yelped to the wand guiding the licking flames around the creature. _

_ No one else laughed, but stood solemnly, either looking away or to the ground. Something in Sirius snapped. Later he wouldn't know whether it was the empathy he felt for the helpless animal, or the fact that it's appearance reminded him of his own Animagus form. _

_ "Stop! Stop it, Evan! You're hurting it!" Sirius lunged at the boy he had grown to hate recently, knocking his wand arm askew, burning a patch of ground in a streak as everyone in the path of the wand dove out of the way. Scary fire gone, the mangy cur raced off, tail tucked between it's legs._

_ "What the hell was that, Black? It's just a mutt, and a Muggle mutt at that."_

_ "You bastard, it's just as alive as you and me, there's no excuse for causing harm to a dumb animal who can't fight back and didn't do anything wrong, Muggle or _not!" _Sirius realized with dawning horror that Rosier didn't care that the dog had simply been defending it's territory and giving the intruders a warning, didn't care that the creature couldn't fight back. Sirius finally gave in to what he'd been longing to do, and swung a fist._

_ It landed with a heavy thwack on Rosier's perfect nose, and a _crack _along with the profusely gushing blood told him that he'd broken it. Sirius felt a sharp elation that more that made up for the stabbing pain that shot through his knuckles and fist from the impact. Rosier made a strangled noise of pain and outrage, his own fist aiming for Sirius as Sirius ducked, and then they were being dragged apart by the others, who were screaming something unintelligible, and Sirius felt the adrenaline drain from his body as he was carried by the flood of people back to _Chateau Malfoy_…_

What infuriated Sirius was that when Lord Malfoy had reprimanded both boys, it had been for unnecessary violence of a Muggle sort, no less. Nothing had been mentioned of the dog. Instead, he'd been informed that he had disappointed everyone in his show of rashness and demeaning Muggle attack against a fellow Pureblood, and for that Lord Malfoy had decided to allow Evan Rosier, as the injured party, to decide his punishment. Rosier would, of course, be punished as well for having responded in a like Muggle manner, but it would be seen to privately by Evan's father. Angrily, Sirius went to the Library, uncaring of the almost awed gaze of half a dozen Purebloods. Anna was there, arms folded, mouth in a tight, prim line.

Before he could greet her, she launched into her tirade. "How _dare _you squander your position away on something like this? What were you _thinking, _Sirius? You physically attacked Rosier! You _punched _him! You broke his damn pretty-boy nose by Muggle means, and over a stupid dog?"

"Oh, excuse me if I can't stand seeing the torture of a helpless creature," Sirius yelled back, apoplectic at Anna's callousness. "The _dog _did nothing wrong! It was just there! It couldn't even fight back! What was I supposed to do, act like the rest of you bloody lot and pretend that I was listening to a symphony or watching a damn Quidditch game? Shit, Anna, none of you did _anything! _The dog was being slowly burnt alive!"

Anna whirled on him, eyes hard and sparking with barely contained wrath. "Oh, Mister High-and-Mighty, then tell me, just _what _are you doing learning—with great veracity, I might add—spells meant to inflict pain or death on others? You're no better than any of us, sitting there with your righteous spiels while you cheerfully acquire and practice spells that are a hell lot worse than the one Rosier used on the dog and are meant for humans. Go ahead, Sirius Black, go and preach to me about your Gryffindor values, because you don't know a single _thing _about what _any _of us, even Evan Rosier, have had to endure! I ensure you, tickling a dog with a flame for a couple minutes are the least of what we've done. Why don't you ask your precious friend Pettigrew about his summer here?"

In the ensuing silence, Sirius swore that Anna's voice alone could have set _him _on fire, so livid was she. Slowly, tiredly, Sirius dropped into one of the armchairs. "All right, Anna. I'm sorry for yelling at you, okay? I'm sorry that I blew my acting. But I am _not _sorry that I stopped Rosier from roasting the dog."

The tense fury suddenly flowed from Anna's stance, leaving her as the recognizable sweet girl Sirius was more familiar with. "I'm sorry too, Sirius." She heaved a sigh, dropping into another leather armchair. "I suppose you'll never really understand any of us, not really. No one could unless they experienced it themselves. I made a mistake in thinking you might get it, despite not having lived it." She looked away, fiddling with her wand.

Sirius leaned forward earnestly, eyes focused on the dejected girl in front of him. "Then _help _me understand, Anna. I can't get anything if you don't tell me everything. I want to understand this mad insanity you live in, but I can't do that if you don't explain it to me."

He held his breath, hoping—and then, Anna looked up, soft eyes meeting his, and she began telling him more than he'd ever learnt about the perverted, twisted culture the Purebloods had come to, the elite circle she was trapped in and yet longed to break free from.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Summer Gatherings," Anna said contemplatively, "is the euphemistic term for tea, torture, and political education. The children are the pawns—the adults the chess players, bidding in a tournament for garnering the ultimate control. I don't expect you to know much about the political climate of the Pureblood elites. Few who have not been steeped in it from infancy understand. Summer Gatherings are traditionally where children learn to use whatever skills they have to exploit others. That's why we have the table ranks. Just as the adult table organizes itself from highest-ranked to lowest according to power and favor, so do the younger tables. At this moment in time, Lord Malfoy is seated at the head here because he is the host, and we are his guests. If one were to go to a real dinner party and not just the imitations we put on here, one would see the Dark Lord heading the table, with Owen Rosier at his right hand and Abraxas Malfoy at his left. My own father is in the sixth seat down on the right, which isn't a bad position. Evan Rosier was one of my regular playmates as a very young child, although he was older than I. We would fly on children's broomsticks and go hunting for tadpoles in the stream that lies just behind his house. Once, we even snuck out and stayed in the little patch of forest near his house, because we wanted to prove to each other we weren't scared of the night or any dragons or hippogriffs that might come and eat us up." Anna's voice had taken on a sing-song quality as she slipped into a storytelling mode, eyes distant and miles away from the Library of _Chateau Malfoy_ and Sirius.

"But then Owen Rosier, who had already sworn fealty to the then rising charismatic leader of the Dark, a man who had been a no-name just years before but was now the most powerful proponent of all Purebloods stood for, decided that his son had to begin living up to his family name and blood. Evan began attending Summer Gatherings. I think at first, the gatherings were simply Pureblooded adults convening to discuss the broiling subjects of politics in the Wizarding World. Back then it was still held at Malfoy Manor in Britain. But the Dark Lord took an interest in these summer meetings, and soon, they had reformed it into a camp where children trained to kill, maim, and lose their innocence before they even made it to Hogwarts and the disgusting influence of Albus Dumbledore." Sirius wanted to protest at that, shifting uneasily. But he dared not interrupt Anna's story, floating out in a dream-like state.

"I was younger, and a girl, and suddenly the boy I'd considered a friend was no more. He'd been replaced by a mini-version of his father, a man I'd always been highly afraid of. And one year later, I found out why. My father sent me to Summer Gathering that year, and I learnt just how the father I idolized, the one who couldn't hold out against my pleadings for ice cream every time we visited Diagon Alley and sang me to sleep each night, was the same man who could kill baby animals without blinking an eye, and turn Dark curses on other people's children as a lesson. It was a shock, that one person could be something to someone and completely different to others. It explained to me more than words could why people would cross the street to avoid my father if we went out, or send me hate-filled glares as they clutched the tiny hands of their own children. And it was my first lesson. Slowly but surely, my father and his friends and allies began to ruthlessly educate my generation in the ways of the world, the ways of the political turmoil escalating. I was thirteen when I first killed—a little Puffskein I'd named Pepper. We had all been given Puffskeins and told to look after them carefully for a week—and at the end of the week, we were forced to use what spell knowledge we knew to kill our pet." Anna shut her lids tight over her eyes. "I have always since then envied Severus Snape, for his little Puffskein simply slipped over from life to death without struggle, without pain, without the knowledge of its owner's betrayal. Severus was always efficient with his wandwork. He simple caused his Puff's brain to burst. Instantly fatal and painless. It took me six tries to kill Pepper, and he was squealing and writhing, but his eyes never left mine, accusing me of the ultimate betrayal. That was my second lesson, and I learnt it well. I spent a week learning spells way above my level from Snape, and by the time the next Summer Gathering had rolled around, I was ready. My new pet—a baby chick—died on my first try. I was the youngest one able to do so. My father bought me the latest model of the Nimbus broomstick I'd wanted for weeks. He was so proud of me, of his little Anna."

Horrified and completely entranced by the dark and disturbing tale, Sirius was slightly startled when Anna's eyes flew open again and she sat up fiercely, abruptly. "Since then, I have learnt more than I care to remember. I have killed innocent animals. I have blasted my friends with the Darkest curses imaginable, short of the Unforgivables. I have followed my father and watched as he tortured someone for information, and then killed him—and I still love him. I have seen Evan Rosier become a carbon copy of his father, and I find myself becoming more like mine every day that passes in each Summer Gathering. I have seen Evan do awful things to people, to animals, to anything living, and closed my eyes to it because to say anything or show my feelings would be tantamount to suicide—not only for myself, but for my father, on whom my performance reflects. I have stayed silent as injustice occurs every hour of every day, only happy that it wasn't happening to me nor to my father. Can you say you know what I, or any of my peers, have gone through? Are going through? Can you judge us, Sirius Black, you who have never seen death up close and personal?"

Sirius looked at Anna Nott's shadowed face, haunted with the deaths she had caused and seen and yet still uncorrupted—marred, perhaps, but not destroyed—and he could not.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_"Expect the worst," _Anna had told him before he left, still stunned at the revelations of the night. _"You are in for a harsh time of it for having so personally offended Evan Rosier, not only for _not_ falling for his ruse but for making him a fool in front of his Lord—the Lord he will pledge allegiance to when he joins the adult table. I can only pray that your status as heir to the Black family will spare you from his cruelest punishment of all."_

_ "And what is that?" _Sirius wanted to know. But Anna had only shook her head.

And so he was waiting, dread curling in his belly as he stood face to face with a manic-looking Evan. There were no adults present, only the deadly silent circle of adolescents, all looking uncommonly like ancient souls in youthful visages.

"Well, well, Sirius Black," Evan said finally, a grim coldness evident in his posture. "You have spurned my friendship in an unacceptable manner. But I suppose I should have known better than to expect more from a _Gryffindor. _You're no better than you little cowardly friend Pettigrew, though he broke to bridle much, much faster. All of you, thinking you're so much better than us. It gives me no pleasure to punish you, a Pureblood, one who could have been great. I regret every ounce of blood I shall spill. I can only hope your family understands the necessity and forgives me for spilling the blood of the Blacks."

As he spoke, he held out a hand and someone—Lestrange—scurried forward, placing something in his palm…a whip? Sirius started to sweat. Surely the adults wouldn't allow one of their children to beat another bloody! It was one thing if a parent did it to their child. Another to be whipped by his own classmate, in front of more of his schoolmates, most in the rival House. He would never live it down!

"I hereby invoke the ancient rule of the Pureblood, which states that in such a betrayal of alliances and public humiliation from one Pureblood to another, the injured party may give forty strokes of the whip to the aggressor in full view of at least ten witnesses of similar pure ancestor. Take off your robe and shirt, Black."

_This couldn't be happening. _Panicking, Sirius demanded, "And if I refuse?"

Something in Evan's eyes sharpened. "Then I have the right to kill you." Sirius tensed. _He would do it—I know he would. _Sirius could see it in Evan's eyes, mocking him. Death, or humiliation and pain? Sirius didn't want to die—not when he had barely lived in the first place. He couldn't escape, not from this room with Avery holding his wand and Evan's dueling skills, not to mention the presence of over a dozen equally Dark witches and wizards. _When had things gone so wrong? Anna warned me about the worst, but I never imagined this…_he caught her eye, but she merely looked back with a veiled regret heavy in her countenance for a second before dropping her gaze to her shoes. There would be no help from that quarter, and he had no right to expect it anyhow. Slowly, Sirius unbuttoned his robe.

They positioned him in a kneeling position, his bare back towards Evan. Unfortunately, as the goosebumps rippled along his skin and his hands pressed against the cold marble floor, Sirius happened to look up. _Just my luck, _he thought bitterly. Directly in front of him, of all the people in the circle he could have faced, Severus Snape was observing the proceedings with a cool air. _I bet he's enjoying this. His worst enemy, humiliated and about to be whipped. Payback for all the times we played tricks on him and laughed, for the werewolf prank that went horribly wrong, for everything he blames me for. _Sirius braced himself, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

_The whip whistled shrilly as it fell, and a thin red welt scored Sirius' back. Oh Merlin and Morganna, it _hurt, _worse than he remembered from his mother's punishments, worse than he could anticipate, as the bloodthirsty lash flailed his flesh, and he struggled not to cry out, even as the sting threatened to overwhelm him and behind him, Rosier scoffed at him and whispered insults, telling him about how the whip had been specially modified in Knockturn Alley to enhance the pain, and Sirius had lost count of the brutal strikes around twenty-five, and the stone floor was blurring and looming dangerously to his face and he was awash in painpainpainhisbackonfirepain…_

As he fell in and out of consciousness, Sirius became aware of harsh and discordant voices somewhere high above his head—which he found, to his dismay, was at the moment plastered to the hard floor. He licked his dry lips and tried to focus on the wavering, discordant voices. Were they done with him, or just jeering, taking their time to administer the last killing blows?

"He's close to dead, Rosier. His family didn't give you permission to kill their heir, you need to stop or he'll die of blood loss. You should have used a normal whip, that way…"

"…can't stop in the middle of an invoked punishment! There are rules against it!"

"Well then what do you propose we do? Kill Black and have _all _of us suffer the Black family wrath, not to mention our Lord would be most unhappy at this breach of etiquette, killing a Pureblood heir in an ancient ritual without approval from the family…"

"I'll switch whips then!"

"…won't do any good for Black, he still won't last another ten lashes even with a normal whip. What did that shopkeeper _do _to that whip?"

"...another way…if someone voluntarily takes his place…We'll just have to finish what we started and pray forgiveness of the Black family later. My father can convince them that it was Black's fault anyway…"

"I'll take his place."

_Snape? _Sirius tried to open his eyes, but found them quite sealed shut tight in an effort to hold back the waves of dizzying agony. _What was Snape doing? _

"_You'll take his place?" _That voice sounded just as astounded as Sirius would have felt if his throbbing back had not taken most of his energy and attention.

"In accordance with ancient Pureblood rule, a member of Black's family can take his place. I am no family, but the Prince bloodline does cross three times with the Black ancestry, the last one being Mildred Prince's marriage to Cepheus Black eight generations ago. You may look it up if you wish, but it falls within the ten-generation rule for kinship in this circumstance."

"I see. And why, Severus, would you wish to take part of Black's punishment? We all know just was goes on between you two at Hogwarts. Or have we missed something you've keep silent on?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Rosier. I despise Black. That said, I refuse to suffer the wrath of our Lord and the Black family for the murder of their eldest son and heir simply because you were witless enough to use a poisoned whip on Black. Walburga Black may be appeased by your father, but you should know that the Dark Lord has always seen through the Rosier family."

"_Fine. _Let it be on your own head. Get Black out of the way, and someone staunch his blood flow for fuck's sake. Snape, get down on your knees."

"I'd prefer to see you trade that poisoned whip for a normal one first, _Rosier." _

Sirius felt hands on his arms and sides, sliding him, dragging him away—the shock of a burning pain flooded his body, and jolted a groan out of him.

"Merlin, he's burning up…here, Charlotte, you're the best with healing spells, can you stop the blood?"

"I'll try. He doesn't look good at all, and I don't know if I'm good enough…" Sirius felt a tingle of magic thrill down his back, a cold finger down his spine. It both hurt and felt good, and he clenched his teeth as the wind on his raw flesh chilled until it was noticeably cold, like pressing your nose against the frosted pane of a window during winter. Vaguely, he saw a dark shape come into view in front of him and sink down gracefully, and then he and the dark shape both flinched as the harsh _crack _of a whip sounded.

Sirius gasped at the renewed pain he had stirred by jolting his body, and as the heat and agony flared against his back and flooded every inch of his body, he felt his vision go black—and then his mind followed, gratefully, darkness drowning out the sound of the tormenting lash against someone else's flesh.

**Author's Notes:**

_Don't kill me? Please?_

_This chapter title is taken out of Dante's Inferno. It comes out of the canto from which a more famous line is also scribed- "Abandon hope, all ye who enter here," the text written on the entrance to hell which Dante describes. Here it is, in its context:_

"Through me you pass into the city of woe:

Through me you pass into eternal pain:

Through me among the people lost for aye.

Justice the founder of my fabric moved:

To rear me was the task of Power divine,

Supremest Wisdom, and primeval Love.

Before me things create were none, save things

Eternal, and eternal I endure.

All hope abandon, ye who enter here."

Such characters, in color dim, I mark'd

Over a portal's lofty arch inscribed. (Canto III)


	6. Songs of Innocence and Experience

**Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to anything that doesn't belong to me.**

Later, Sirius didn't know whether or not what he remembered, the broken and jagged bits of memories, were mere hallucinations or actual reality. He woke up too weak to even lift his head, lying face down on a soft white bed. Blinking to clear his watering eyes, he heard someone rustle over, and then a soft, feminine murmur telling him it was okay, everything would be alright, just to go back to sleep, and he tried to tell the person that he was so cold he must be frozen into a solid piece of ice and that's why he couldn't move, but then a trickle of warmth like sunshine caressed his head and cheeks, and it was enough for Sirius to fall back asleep again.

He woke up again, this time with a clear mind and a ravaging hunger. He sat up, noticing that he was much paler than the last time he'd viewed himself in a mirror, and that he was in a simple white nightshirt. He was in a room he didn't recognize, a china blue-and-white patterned room with three beds and a sink and large windows that let in the last rays of a late afternoon sun in. The other two beds were empty. He was in the corner one. Sirius wondered how long he'd been here and where _here _was.

The door unexpectedly swung open, and Sirius looked up. A woman thought he might have seen at the adult table during meals at _Chateau Malfoy_ smiled kindly at him. She was dressed in a sage green plain cotton robe with—yes, that was St. Mungo's insignia in the front. She was a Healer.

"Good afternoon, Mister Black. Welcome back to the world of the living," she said cheerfully, bustling over to his side and beginning to move her wand efficiently. A series of sparkling numbers and glowing dots appeared in the air in front of her—diagnostics, Sirius knew, but didn't know enough to understand what they meant. Obviously something good, because, she seemed satisfied as she waved her wand and erased them. "Good, good, you've healed well," she said happily. "You gave us all a scare several days ago, but the worst seems to be over. You are very lucky, Mister Black, you came close to death several times."

"How long have I been here? Who are you?" Sirius demanded.

"Oh, excuse me for not introducing myself. I am Antonia Greengrass. Charlotte Greengrass is my daughter. I'm the resident Healer for the summer, and you're in the Blue Room, my temporary hospital room for injured children. You've been here for a little over a week, Mister Black. The poisoned whip Rosier used on you was contained a very wicked potion that was released into your bloodstream. I had an awful time of it, draining it out of your system. As it was, I had to enlist the help of several other people to get you through your fever and cure you of the blood-poisoning and the infection that set in. You'll be fine now, although I suspect you'll be weak for several months at least. I wouldn't try anything of a truly Dark nature or get in the way of a Dark spell for a while since your magic will be prone to super-sensitivity to Dark spells, and I've spoken with all your instructors and classmates regarding that matter. They finally agreed to allow you to merely observe for the rest of the summer, and there's only about a little over a week left of Summer Gathering anyway."

_Bless you, _thought Sirius gratefully. _I don't think I want to touch another Dark spell again in my life. It was fun at first to feel so powerful, knowing I can defend myself against all these pompous Purebloods, but it's gotten out of hand. Damn Rosier! _

Healer Greengrass continued, interrupting Sirius' thoughts. "It's a mercy they stopped when they did. Even a couple more lashes and I think we'd have lost you to the Veil."

"I…I don't really recall much of it," Sirius confessed.

"Well, you were in a bad way. I doubt it would have much sense to you if you had been even conscious. I'll tell you what my daughter told me. She said that you did pretty well up till around the twentieth lash, and then the poison really started coursing through your veins, reached your heart and did some damage—which I've repaired, but you'll need to be careful not to be too physically active for a while yet, since it's still weakened. That Evan Rosier was very stupid to think he could use a poisonous whip for forty lashes! What he was thinking, I don't know. Five, fine, it just makes a person weak for a couple days with no lingering health concerns. _Forty!" _The Healer pursed her lips, and Sirius got the feeling that she held a high disdain for Evan Rosier.

"Well, you finally collapsed at twenty-seven, and my daughter and her friend—that nice young girl, Nott's daughter—stepped in and pointed out that you were barely breathing, and everyone started arguing with Rosier about what to do. On the one hand, you were practically dying in front of them and that could cause a blood feud between your families. On the other, once a punishment is formally invoked like Rosier did with you, to stop would be unthinkably dishonorable. Finally that quiet boy who likes potions, Lucius Malfoy's ward—Snape—he stepped in and claimed temporary kinship to you so that he could take the rest of the punishment. Brave boy, Snape. Smart too. He was my primary potions brewer, helped supply the potions I needed to keep you alive and stave off the infection."

_Snape? _Sirius' eyes widened. "That was real?" He'd thought they were fever-dreams, the hellish, reddened memories of a skinny boy being whipped as Sirius lay slumped on the floor, stubbornly silent in defiance of the cringing lashes that sounded like a nightmare…

"Why, yes. He made Rosier switch to a normal whip, so he wasn't as bad off as you, although he did spend two days here in the bed next to yours. He insisted on leaving before he was fully healed, impatient little boy, but I can't complain since he went straight to the Potions laboratory in the basement and brewed the potions I needed for you." Sirius was stunned. This was Snape. _Snivellus, _the miserable little Slytherin who had taunted him and seemed to embrace the darkness. The overgrown bat. The dangerously Dark wizard who was concerned for none but himself! What had possessed his longtime adversary to do that for him?

Healer Greengrass was still talking, although Sirius had stopped paying attention. He caught the end of her instructions as she was evidently telling him that he would be released from the Blue Room tomorrow if he remained as lucid as he was today, but he had to promise not to overdo it. He mumbled something when she seemed to require a response, and while she threw him a sharp glance, she let it go and handed him a bowl of some sort of soup that a house-elf had, at some point, brought for him.

He was released the next day with the strictest instructions from Healer Greengrass to be careful not to overexert himself. She thrust a bottle of some clear-ish green-black goo. "Have a house-elf spread this over your back before you go to bed every night for the next two weeks, and also if your back starts burning or your heart is racing for no reason at all, come back to me immediately. I'm fairly certain we got all the poison, but you never know."

Anna escorted him to Alodie's parlor classroom, her reassuring arm tucked in his. They didn't speak much, but Sirius noticed the relief and wordless apology as she neutrally greeted him, and he gave her a quick nod of forgiveness and her shoulders visibly relaxed. Alodie cried in delight when they entered. "Ah, _ma chérie_! Welcome back heartily, Monsieur Black! I have missed you and taken out my temper on your little friends, this is so, _non_?"

"Oui," one of the boys muttered before his friend jabbed an elbow into his ribs to shut him up.

"But you are better now, and you shall see what we have been working on all week although Madame Healer Greengrass says you must only_ ecouter_, listen only, no participating, and I would prefer to keep my pretty looks, _oui_? So I will obey her orders." The lovely woman laughed at her own joke and waved an elegant hand for Sirius to take a seat at the side. He crossed the room and sat near the wall, determinedly meeting every single person's eyes as he passed them. Most of them looked away first. Only three people held his gaze: Evan Rosier with a sneer worthy of a Malfoy, Anna Nott's concerned and slightly ashamed gaze, and Snape—whose face gave nothing away of why he'd taken Sirius' place that day, and whose inscrutable glittering black eyes reflected nothing as they regarded Sirius' own eyes steadily.

Unnerved and frustrated, Sirius sat and let his mind drift as he watched Alodie direct scenes. _They've moved on from learning how to move and talk and the rules that we were learning about what generally works and doesn't for different positions and genders. Looks like they're finally doing better at this manipulation thing too, _Sirius concluded as Anna trailed her fingers down Avery's arm while Mulciber smiled winningly at von Fuhler and said something in his rumbling baritone.

The practice over, Rosier, Avery, and Lestrange immediately got up and strode out, ignoring Sirius. The others hesitated, throwing oblique glances Sirius' way before hurrying out after Rosier. Snape didn't bother looking at Sirius either, merely ambled out casually. Anna joined Charlotte as they walked out just ahead of Sirius, loudly talking between themselves and ignoring him, but Sirius had caught the lopsided twist of Anna's mouth as she turned ostentatiously to Charlotte, and took the hint and the rebuff in the spirit it was meant. After all, just because _Sirius _had been an idiot enough to display his emotions in a reckless Gryffindor brawl didn't mean everyone else who hated Evan Rosier's guts would announce their dislike as well. Anna was a Slytherin first and foremost.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The knock on his door was unexpected. It wasn't late at night, and Rosier never came to his room at any other time. In fact, Rosier never _knocked _either. No one else had ever approached his room. So who was it? Severus frowned, meticulously stacking the papers on his desk and placing them in a drawer. Whoever it was didn't need to see Severus' research into Dark mind-manipulative potions. Rising, he went to the door and opened it a crack. It made no sense to open a door wider than he had to when he didn't know if an enemy stood on the other side.

No, it wasn't Rosier. "Black."

"Snape. I need to speak with you." He looked nervous, hair still dripping from a shower that he must have just taken, despite having done nothing that afternoon but the mildest of spells more commonly used for pranking than for pain against an inanimate object, and a slow jog while the rest of them had sweated and drawn blood from each other.

He said nothing. Black shifted from foot to foot. "Uh…could I maybe…come inside? I need to talk to you."

Severus drew out the silence, coolly observing the boy through the crack in his doorway. Finally, he stepped aside silently, allowing the door to swing open. Black entered apprehensively, glancing with irrepressible inquisitiveness at his room. It wouldn't do him any good—his room was exactly the same as every other room in the West Wing, with the exception of the sturdy wooden desk he'd requested that rested up against one of the walls.

He waited. Black finally turned to face him fully, and began awkwardly. "I, uh, just wanted to thank you. I heard from Healer Greengrass what you did for me, and I…aw heck." The boy looked frustrated and nervous, fidgeting with his hands, unable to meet Severus in the eye. _I've never seen Black this agitated before. And _nervous? _That is…an unforeseen event indeed. _Severus allowed himself an indulgent jolt of superiority and enjoyment of Black's awkwardness as he surveyed the almost-forlorn-looking terror of his school years with an expression one could consider bemusement, if one had studied his face closely.

"I just wanted to thank you, okay? I know we're not on that great terms or anything, and I'm really sorry for the…thing that happened this year with Remus. I never meant it to go that far." _This is a new and not completely unwelcome change in Black indeed. _Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Damn it, Snape, I just came here to apologize for being an arse before, and to tell you thank you for doing what you did last week. I didn't want it, but I owe you a life debt now. And you can sneer and be a nasty Slytherin git about it, but you can't say Sirius Black didn't honor his debts!" Black finished triumphantly, still not quite meeting Severus' eyes as he began to turn to exit the room.

Severus flicked his wand. Yelping, the boy spun, clutching his hair. "What did you do, you bastard?"

He regarded Black coolly. "You were dripping water all over your robes, Black. Didn't anyone ever teach you to use a Drying charm?"

"Oh! Um…thanks, I guess." Black was most definitely blushing now, almost tomato-worthy as he backed up and then rushed out as if a dragon were after him. Amused, Severus closed the door behind him and dismissed the boy from his thoughts. The conceptual potion he was striving to make reality was more important than an insignificant Gryffindor, or indeed, anyone or anything at all. Because if he were unable to create this potion in reality, his shot at freedom would be over before having begun, and Severus would not, could not, live the rest of his life the way he was now, a murdering, lying, controlled puppet. _Damned if I become what they want me to become, their perfect tool to use and leave out carelessly once the task is done! _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It was official—Sirius Black was being given the "silent treatment". It would have been amusing if Sirius didn't know that Rosier, far from being a petulant girl, was a dangerous enemy to have. The only words Rosier had directed at him, which hadn't even been spoken to him, had been an instruction for him to take von Fuhler's seat at the table during lunch. Frankly, Sirius was relieved. He was further down the table than Anna now, though not quite as far as Snape, while Lestrange, Avery, and the people he had displaced near the head of the table took back their original positions and von Fuhler smugly moved up one seat, blowing a sickening kiss Rosier's way.

No one else talked to him either. Some of them, especially the younger ones, were too afraid of incurring Rosier's wrath. Sirius couldn't blame them. Others showed no inclination of their thoughts about the matter at all, but simply continued the way they'd been going, treating him with the distinct distant politeness of Pureblood society. Alodie had certainly taught them well. On the other hand, Sirius figured that unless his mother gave express permission to kill him, he was fairly safe from any further retribution and dropped all pretenses, openly ignoring the others around him in favor of concentrating on his food instead. It had occurred to him, as he kept his head held high but his eyes focused on his plate and never on any of the others surrounding him, that he was imitating Snape. _Well, so what if I am? _He thought defiantly as he made his way to Nott's class, where Nott brusquely set him to jogging the perimeters of the large dueling room for several circuits before using low level spells for target practice, to "improve aim accuracy". _Snape isn't too bad when he's got his nose in a book or when he's quiet and ignoring the world, and everyone leaves him alone just fine._ Sirius ignored the little irritating voice that added a snide, _except me and James. _That was besides the point—they'd been on a vendetta, after all._ There's no harm in picking up some of that _go-away _vibe Snape has down pat, not if it gets the others to leave me alone for the rest of the summer. _

But thinking about Snape had only brought it's own headache. Just _why _had Snape helped him like that? Was it for blackmail? For Sirius to owe him a life debt like Snape owed one to James? Sirius didn't know just what the Slytherin intended, and it was eating away at him. He'd confronted Snape finally, going to his room and spitting out the mandatory thank you and acknowledgement of the debt he owed Snape—what a galling thing!—because he couldn't do anything else. His damn Gryffindor conscience had forced him, and it was the first time Sirius had cursed his placement into the House that valued bravery and truth above all.

But Snape had caught him completely off-guard. He'd been expecting…well, Sirius didn't know just what he'd been expecting. The jeering Slytherin of school, perhaps, or the aloof haughtiness he'd observed here. Even the violent Dark wizard he'd had seen battling Rosier. But Snape had been none of those. Instead, he'd stood there quite calmly while Sirius alternately blustered through his thanks, insulted him, and then dried his hair with a spell and sent him on his way with something dangerously close to a _joke, _and Sirius could have sworn he'd seen nothing but pure amusement in Snape's face before it became impassive again.

_Dried his hair, like he was a child—_Sirius buried his face in his hands and groaned. _I don't know if I can ever look at Snape in the eye ever again. That was even more humiliating than the time he turned me and James Slytherin green on the day of the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. Or when Remus walked in on me and Hestia Jones working on getting to third base. Argh! _Sirius decided he was better off not thinking at all.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It had taken Severus months, and even now he still couldn't understand Sirius Black. Almost a year ago, the infuriating bastard had knowingly egged him on into the jaws of a werewolf. Even now, Severus had nightmares where the gleaming jaws closed around his shoulder, or face, or breathed a foul predatory smile on the back of his neck, claws grazing down to rip cruelly into his back…

And always, in his dreams, it was not the maddened creature that stalked him that woke him up screaming. It was his audience—Lily, Potter, Black, a mild and very human Lupin, Pettigrew, his own parents, Dumbledore, Malfoy, Rosier…they watched as Severus stumbled and scrambled frantically, pleading for someone, _anyone, _to help him. They laughed coldly in the unfeeling light of the full moon that gazed apathetically down at the dying boy stretching his hands out in vain to those who had betrayed him and to those he had betrayed in turn. And always, just as the distinctive salt-tang of his blood slid into his eyes, covering everything with a blurry haze of crimson, Severus would cry out in hopeless despair, and wake.

But it hadn't been the eminent death that had scared him. To be honest, Severus wasn't terrified of death, not now, not then. Didn't he walk the shadowed line between life and the Veil of oblivion everyday? No, it was not death that scared him. It was the living. The living could hurt you—they could turn on you, ruthlessly crush the heart you thought you had ripped out a long time ago, taunt and bully and humiliate you…yes, the living was much, much worse than kind Death. But Severus still didn't understand Sirius Black.

His initial response to the infamous "Werewolf Prank" was fear, followed by pure rage. How _dare _that little upstart, who didn't even know a fifth of the Dark spells Severus knew, suddenly become cunning enough to trick Severus into confronting death? He'd never thought _Black _of all people, whose magical aura, no matter his ancestry, remained pure and uncorrupted, be able to almost successfully murder Severus Snape? Then had come the resentment as he watched Dumbledore, who sprouted shining values and promoted House equality verbally, virtually patted the Gryffindorks on their heads and sent them off, binding _Severus _to an Oath of silence instead. Oh, he'd waited until Potter and Black had left, of course. It wouldn't do to see their golden idol threaten Severus with expulsion for "continuous explorations into Dark magic best left in the dark—oh, don't think I didn't notice what your little group of Slytherins are practicing behind closed doors, Severus." And Severus had had to acknowledge the skills of the Headmaster, for it had been a long time since he'd been outmaneuvered so swiftly, and at the last time he had been outflanked as such, he had been as a lonely child seeking approval and companionship. He'd been rather offended as well. Albus Dumbledore hadn't trusted a Slytherin with a secret that could mean his own job, and certainly Remus Lupin's removal from Hogwarts—possibly his euthanization. Never mind that this Slytherin was the acknowledged secret keeper of the school, had _never _revealed someone else's information if it had been entrusted to him and the proper price had been paid for his silence. Lupin would have been safe even without the magical Oath, if the Marauders had simply promised to leave him strictly alone. That would have been the price of silence—an invisible wall between them and Severus, which Severus didn't think was too much to ask. But no, he'd been manipulated right into a magically binding Oath to stay silent on Lupin's disease, only to be released when Lupin graduated officially and his certificate couldn't be rescinded. _At least it has a time span, _Severus thought ungraciously. _It would have been much worse if no time length had been specified. _

It had taken Severus three months to reasonably question why Black still had an innocent aura, one that showed no flickers of having attempted murder on a fellow human. Black had tried to _kill _him, damn it! But this was where Severus' own background had led him astray, he realized. He'd grown up completely aware that those around him would kill him in a heartbeat if need be for their own purposes. He'd gotten used to treading softly around the most dangerous of them. Black, despite his own Dark heritage, had fallen in early with wizards wholly of the Light.

It was a hard and bitter thing to swallow. Black had _not _been trying to murder him that night. His untainted magical presence proved it. And Severus had gone one step further in search of the answers he needed. Black wouldn't remember it of course—Lucius had taught him how to use _Obliviate _with a surgeon's precision. Only another Master of Legilimency and mind magic, carefully examining Black's memories, would even notice the tiny, sutured incision let alone be able to reopen the lock on the memories. It had helped that it was simply one, five-minute encounter he'd needed to lock away in Black's mind—a bigger memory, one further in the past and with more influence on Black's life, or one he clutched onto as a memory of import, would not have been as easily done, _especially _without someone noticing. He'd caught Black alone for once, off-guard, in the Library. He didn't even know what Black was doing there at the early morning hours of a Saturday, but he'd seized the opportunity and disarmed him before plunging into his rival's mind. A swirl of laughter, a sensation of crippling fear, a numb realization, panic, and simple all-consuming guilt, fear—Severus had his proof. The boy who lived to bully him _hadn't, _in fact, been trying to kill him. The dimwitted fool hadn't even been _thinking _when he sent Severus to the Whomping Willow, hadn't realized what he had done until Potter had learnt of his foolish "prank". It had been no deliberated homicide. Severus was familiar with men and women who would kill without hesitation and feel no remorse. Black and Potter had been frightened out of their wits when they'd understood the ramifications of death. And Black had been genuinely sorry, practically dripping with guilt after the fact.

It baffled Severus. He would have understood if Black had been aiming to take his life. But he could not understand the unthinking mistake that had almost ended tragically. When he'd seen Black here, seen his shining golden magic and compared it to his own blackened, bloodstained aura—the magic of a murderer—Severus had almost wanted to cry from the irony and injustice of it.

Black simply didn't belong here. Even as he competently acquired skills that Pettigrew a year ago had balked at and thus consequently been submitted to as a test subject, his own magic had remained clean—a shade darker, perhaps, but still pure. Perhaps it had been that thought of the innocence that no one else here possessed, hadn't possessed since their first Summer Gathering, that had prompted Severus to take the rest of Black's punishment voluntarily. Rosier had enjoyed it—Rosier like debasing Severus the most of anyone, perhaps because Severus refused to bow down willingly, had to be forced every time Rosier came to his bedroom or forced him into his, had to be tied down or bound each time. Severus had never submitted willingly once he'd seen Rosier for what he really was. So Rosier had definitely enjoyed the sight of Severus kneeling to be whipped without restraints and without struggle. It had bought Severus an entire week of peace, at least, and he preferred the healing welts on his back to…other things.

He rarely spoke to anyone. But he and Anna Nott had come to an understanding, as he rose wearily from the infernal bed Healer Greengrass had put him in and had seen her, staring down at Black with noticeable concern. She had never done him any personal wrong, she was an intelligent girl with whom he had collaborated with in the past, and she cared for the scumbag. An unspoken glance was exchanged. That was all it took for the two Slytherins, trained from young to convey messages in a movement of a hand or tilt of the head. Both of them were invested in the irritating boy now. Perhaps for different reasons—Severus did not ask, as it was not his business, just what Anna felt for the Gryffindor, just as Anna did not question why Severus had taken Black's place, kneeling in front of someone he'd sworn he would never bow to willingly. Whatever their reasons, Anna and Severus were now strange allies in an even stranger mission: to keep Black whole, alive, and innocent through the end of Summer Gathering to deliver back to the Light. If Anna and Severus couldn't escape the fate that they were being herded towards, well, this would be their one act of defiance—_Black _would escape.

**Author's Notes:**

_Sorry for the delay in updating! My computer is having internet issues, and I've not been able to access the internet._

_The title of this chapter, "Songs of Innocence and Experience," is the name of the collection of poems by William Blake. The songs of innocence are mirrored against contrasting poems depicting the dark side of the world, the 'songs of experience'. Blake meant to make a political statement about the oppression of the commoner by church and state, the corruption rampant in both, and the loss of childhood innocence. _


	7. Oath of the Peach Garden

**Disclaimer: Borrowed from JKR**

For Severus Snape, potions had been a natural talent, a soothing process he'd never had to consciously think about before. Creating spells had been not so much of a "gift," as others called it, but more born from Severus' need to feel in control, protected, _powerful_. Potions took him away from the hell he lived in, the same way the precious moments with Lily Evans had done before he'd driven her away and into the arms of Potter and his gang. The invention of spells—_Sectumsempra, _the Muffling spell, _Demensimperia, _and a scattering of other mostly useless or trivial bits of magic—these had their roots wholly and completely in his Hades. He'd ripped through books on protective spells, preemptive spells, listening avidly to his DADA professors (all of whom left after a year of teaching in the position for one reason or another) and soon, he'd craved more, needed stronger walls for himself against the cold pitiless world he knew. It had led him to Occlumency and Legilimency, and from there, finally into the creation of his own spells. _If I couldn't find a spell for something—private conversations, legal control of another person's will—I would create it myself, since no one else had bothered. _Yes, and his propensity for seeing everyone as potential enemies had driven him entirely to the Dark Arts, held back only by one slim thread: Lily Evans.

He didn't know what he felt for the red-headed girl. His rational side scoffed, telling him that he'd been used, that the most Lily had felt for him was a fleeting moment's pity and scorn for being "weak enough to turn to the Dark Arts." Oh, it had hurt when she'd spat those words at him. What did she know about weakness, she whose biggest concern were her grades and whether her sister was still mad at her? What did she know of true Darkness, she who had two loving parents, who spent all summer shouting gleefully and splashing in pools or vacationing in exotic locations?

But in other times, Severus fiercely missed the vivacious spot of sunshine Lily had been, the one beauty in his life untouched by violence and deep-rooted corruption. Completely unaware of the compelling forces that drove Severus further into the shadows, she'd been a breath of fresh air, a chance to bask in the warm light of day without fearing treachery or the stink of Dark magic.

It didn't matter now, Severus reasoned, staring blankly at Nott as he droned on about their instructions for the day. Lily was gone, and he had only himself to blame for the derisive filth he had flung at her, so easily slipping from his mouth. _Mudblood. _He'd been so careful not to use the term until then, although he thought it pointless for people to take such offense to it. It was just a word after all, just a name. Names couldn't hurt, not the way magic could. Even the ugly nickname he'd been given—_Snivellus—_had not hurt him, not in the same way the amused looks in bystanders' eyes had done as they stood and watched four boys taunt one. It was always the implicit, held-back laughter at Severus' expense, the same view of him as entertainment that even Dumbledore was guilty of with that blasted twinkle, that had enraged him and wrenched his heart out of his chest.

But that day, that nightmarish day, he'd blotted out the only star in his eternal night by calling Lily a name she despised. Severus didn't know which was worse: the years of friendship that Lily had walked away from at the drop of one word, or the fact that _that word _had passed his lips against _her_, that he had allowed the darkness of his life and summers to follow him even to where his life was brightest and ruin it.

"…you have to really feel it, want it," Nott concluded, looking around the gathered group. He waved towards the closed box. "Avery, why don't you go first?"

Avery came forward, carefully sliding the top of the box open and Levitating a wriggling mouse out with a look of distaste. Having missed Nott's entire set of instructions, Severus watched curiously, noting the blatant horror in Black's face, the studied neutrality in most of the others, and the open eagerness of several—Rosier included.

Nott handed Avery a black wand, trading with him for Avery's personal one. _Hm. So whatever it is, it's illegal or too Dark a thing to have in a student's wand history. Interesting. I wonder if…_Severus' ponderings were cut off abruptly as Avery straightened and whipped his wand out at the motionless rodent on the floor. "_Imperio!" _

There were outright gasps. Many of the students, no matter how immersed in the Dark Arts they were, still viewed the three Unforgivables as a thing of myth. Severus himself had not seen any of the three Unforgivables used before. They were a last resort, Lucius had told him solemnly. _Use every other means necessary before you use them. There are a thousand other spells to torture, spells to obtain control of a person's will, spells to kill, spells that will not automatically land you in the deepest levels of Azkaban without trial. Only insane fools, those too powerful to be touched, and those with nothing to lose would ever attempt an Unforgivable. _

This was different. Summer Gatherings had _never _included lessons on the Unforgivables in practice before, only in theory. And Severus had a good idea of who had introduced the idea. The Dark Lord was reputed to use the Cruciatus quite liberally, on those who disappointed him and on those he wished to torture. He was also known to have used _Avada Kedavra, _the Killing Curse, on his intended victims as a signature. _Only fools, men with nothing to lose, and those too powerful…_Severus knew which one of those options the Dark Lord was styling himself as. It was partly why so many Purebloods had flocked to the relatively unknown entity, even before he had begun to make a name for himself as he massacred those in his way to power.

The mouse, as everyone watched in morbid fascination, shuddered, squeaked, and sprinted like a dart across the room. Nott hauled it back quickly with an _Accio. _"What were you ordering it to do?"

Avery looked embarrassed. "I wanted it to, uh, hop."

"Unsuccessful, then. You'll have another go later. I don't expect a third of you to manage any of the three Unforgivables, and perhaps none of you will ever manage all three. I myself can perform the Imperius and the Cruciatus, but not the Avada. And my…Lord tells me that having had a daughter I care for, my desire to cause pain is insufficient." Nott chuckled, his harsh voice booming. "But I tell him, that is why he is sitting at the head and I further down."

Several people laughed uneasily—Severus noticed Black frowning and peeking at Anna Nott, who was, thankfully, impassive, pretending to be unaware of his gaze. _Dolt, _Severus silently reprimanded Black. _How am I supposed to get you through the last week of Summer Gathering without you dying or permanently damaged, maimed, or tainted if you keep waving your emotions like a red flag in front of the bull? _Suppressing a sigh, Severus turned his attention back to the events at hand, as Greengrass tentatively waved her wand and cast the Imperius with a voice lacking in conviction. It was going to be a long day.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_Unforgivables! _Sirius could hardly believe what his ears were telling him, couldn't help hoping it was a big joke as Nott explained that certain powerful individuals had expressed an interest in how easily the Darkest curses of all could be learnt. Nott implied that his "Lord" had mastered them at the tender age of sixteen and wanted to know if his experiences could be replicated.

_Damn Voldemort to hell for doing this to us! _Sirius cringed, scanning the faces of his classmates. He thought that he'd gotten better at reading the virtually nonexistent tells of certain people. For example, Greengrass always widened her eyes a tiny fraction when surprised or disgusted beyond belief, Lestrange ground his teeth slightly when angry or frustrated, Anna stood very still when she was hiding some strong emotion, and Snape's eyes darkened and became bottomless when disturbed—or at least, he thought they did. And Evan Rosier covered everything in either a veil of disdain or in crude humor—or, adversely, became extremely charismatic and charming indeed when he wanted something. At least half the people with him were just as shocked as he as Nott instructed Avery to attempt to _Imperio _the live mouse.

Never had he been more grateful that Healer Greengrass had prohibited him from practicing Dark magic for weeks. Sirius didn't think a bone in his body would have allowed him to let the words for the spell pass his lips—not even against Rosier, whom he hated with passion, not even that slimeball of a "Dark Lord" who'd killed so many people including James' grandparents, and had nearly killed Frank Longbottom's mother (who had been rescued when Frank dropped by for an unannounced visit and had noticed the wards around the house down and taken the two Death Eaters by surprise and whisked Augusta Longbottom away—but not before she'd given the unconscious men some pain to think about in Azkaban).

No one succeeded on their first try of the Imperius, and Nott smiled faintly. "Let's try again, shall we? This time, I want all of you to envision someone you want to control in front of you instead of the mouse. The Minister of Magic, perhaps, or a particularly hated enemy. Will it with all your mind and magic. When you're performing the lower level Dark spells, you've been trained to keep a controlling hand on top of the magic. This time, take the hand off and let it explode."

Two people succeeded. Sirius didn't know whether to cheer or be aghast. Or frightened. Because the two people who had successfully gotten their mouse to dance, caper, and—in one case—bite von Fuhler's shoe—were Severus Snape and Evan Rosier.

"That's it for the day," Nott announced in a satisfied voice after four people could successfully, if briefly, cast the Imperius on the mouse, and one (Snape) could hold on to that control for at least five minutes. "Good job, all of you. Don't practice this without an expert's supervision, and _don't _cast it with your own wand. If you are smart, that the item on top of your wish-list for the next birthday or Christmas will be an unregistered personal wand. It's pricey, but worth the galleons. Dismissed—Black, Snape, stay behind."

_What could he possibly want with me and Snape? _Warily, Sirius approached Nott, eyeing Snape, who ignored him.

"Come, walk with me, boys," Nott ordered, setting off without waiting. Nonplussed, they exchanged glances, realized that neither liked the other, and hurried after the man as he sauntered out of _Chateau Malfoy_ and headed for a small "Lover's Nook" private spot in the garden, ignoring the tiny trail paths in favor of trudging through the luxuriant green grass, kicking up the smell of recently moist earth—it had rained this morning, Sirius remembered.

No hint of the rain now; the sky was a burnished, glinting blue with nary a hint of a cloud, merely the Sun Goddess reigning supreme in her domain. Sirius swatted at a cloud of gnats and grimaced, keeping his mouth closed firmly—the last time he'd walked through a cloud of tiny flying insects, he'd yelled in surprise and some of them had flown into his mouth. Snape merely kept his hands clasped behind his back, pacing gravely after their teacher. Sirius gritted his teeth at the two Slytherins and followed, thinking up new names for stupid people who mingled with crazy megalomaniacs and showed not a bloody ounce of emotion in their granite faces. He'd just been admiring his inventiveness with _Gallumphing goatish gorillas _and _Unsympathetic numbskulls _when the two in front of him halted suddenly, forcing him to stumble and step on himself in the effort not to run into their backs.

Glancing around, Nott turned conspiratorially to Snape. "I hear you have a spell that you and my daughter worked in collaboration to create that I might like to see?"

Snape looked taken aback for a split second before he composed himself. "Yes, Sir. It is less of _a_ spell than a combination, like so—" he flicked his wand, a transparent something streaming out from the tip of it and rapidly spreading to encompass a bubble around the three of them. It had hardly settled itself the way a cat does in a favorite person's lap (as the best analogy Sirius' mind could come up with at the moment) when Snape's wand was moving swiftly and with precision again to cut through the air.

Lowering it, he nodded at Nott. "It's safe to talk privately now, Sir, although I'd ask you not to share the knowledge of this spell with anyone. It is harder to detect what one does not know exists."

"Understood. My daughter wouldn't have told me either, but she needed to talk to me in private several days ago."

"Good. I didn't see her as the type to blab about something like this."

"No, Anna's a good girl—although I hear _you're _the one to go to for secrets." Nott raised a bushy eyebrow at the shorter, thin boy. Sirius bit his tongue, unwilling to interrupt this flow of words, the most straightforward he'd ever really heard between Purebloods (or their protégées, since technically Snape _wasn't _Pureblooded…)

Snape shrugged a bony, uncaring shoulder. "People seem to think so, and if they are willing to pay for my silence, who am I to discourage them?"

"It can be a dangerous position. There are some secrets that are death to those who hold them."

"I live in a dangerous position already, in a dangerous world. What is a little added risk?"

Nott shook his head slowly, but not in disagreement. It was as if he were reevaluating Snape, building a clearer perception of the unimpressive-looking teenager, and coming to a new conclusion. _Why am I here, this seems to be all about Snape, _Sirius wondered, fidgeting uneasily.

"There are the rumors of the young Rosier's interests…" Nott began, eyes intent Snape.

"I can neither confirm nor deny mere rumors," Snape replied steadily.

"Of course not." Nott seemed, despite Snape's neutral response, to have found the answer he was looking for. "Of course not."

Sirius couldn't stand it anymore. "What rumors? And why did you want me here, Mister Nott? It seems your business is just with Snape here…" Both turned to him, and Sirius tried not to react defensively. _Great. They've completely ruined my trust in fellow humanity. Although, these _are _Slytherins, I don't think I'd trust them as far as I can throw them in any case. _

"Ah, young Black. How are you enjoying your stay at _Chateau Malfoy_?"

"It is…enlightening." Sirius struggled to find an answer that wouldn't offend the strict and wiry-haired teacher.

To his surprise, Nott started laughing. "Enlightening…I see, Mister Black, that our Alodie's lessons in the manners department have not been totally futile. What you _meant _to say is, you hate this hellhole and can't wait to shake the dust of this place from your feet and never look back. Am I right?"

"Well, I, uh…" Sirius stammered. In the corner of his eye, Sirius noticed Snape sneering. It brought a strangely comforting sense of familiarity into the strange world he'd been dropped in this summer. _Birds are swimming, fish are flying, Sirius Black is learning Dark magic with a bunch of Death Eater recruits…but some things never change. Snape will always be a bastard. _It was a grounding influence.

"Never mind me," Nott interrupted, waving his beefy hand dismissively at Sirius, narrowly missing his nose. "Annette—my late wife, she used to tell me that I was much too blunt for my own good. Got me into a world of trouble when I was a youngster. But perhaps we should get down to business. I called you both here because you are the best people for something I would ask of you, a favor of sorts."

With a gusty sigh, the older man began explaining. "When I was younger and full of idealism about how the world should be ordered, I made some oaths that are best left unbroken. Then Annette died. Dragon Pox—the best Healers couldn't save her. And I had to begin taking care of Anna by my self." Nott shook away the mist of his faraway past, his attention returning back to the riveted boys. "Soon, Anna consumed my life, and the heart I'd thought I'd never had. My oaths began to slip to a secondary place beside my daughter, and I let it, all the while concealing my feelings regarding my daughter from everyone. It could have been a death sentence to her if others knew how much I valued the life of my only child not just for being the sole heir of my line in the family Nott, but for herself alone. Then came the blow, from my liege-lord's own lips, to begin training our children as soldiers in a war they didn't understand yet. I had no choice. Anna began to attend Summer Gatherings, and I could do nothing but volunteer to teach here so that I could keep an eye on her and make sure no mischief happened to harm her. I strove to rise in favor, in position, that in return my child would receive more protection. Three months ago, something happened. Something unexpected, something I had not planned for—and my value slipped." Snape looked startled, his head jerking up minutely. Sirius made a noise of questioning.

Nott nodded. "Yes, perhaps young Mister Snape knows a little of what I am speaking of. What happened is unnecessary for you to know. All you need to know is that someday soon, I fear that Anna will be alone in the world, without a person she can trust to confide in without fear of retribution or betrayal. I would ask both of you to do your best to look after her, especially once she returns to Hogwarts."

Sirius made a garbled sound of shock—this was _not _what he had been expecting to come out of Karston Nott's mouth! Snape was equally baffled. "Sir, you wish us to protect your daughter—why us? We are not even out of school yet. Neither of us have a particularly high position on the table."

Nott's green-grey eyes bore down fiercely on them—eyes the same color as his daughter's, Sirius noted absently. "I chose Black because of his close affiliations with people who have the resources to protect her. The Potters, Dumbledore, numerous friends in the Gryffindor House—you provide a viewpoint she has never known before, living as she has in the heart of the Pureblooded elite. You are proof that people _can _find a life outside the unhealthy political intrigues and struggles of the Purebloods and Dark magic, and I think—" here Nott glanced slyly at Sirius—"I think that you are not averse to her friendship. And friends are something a Gryffindor such as you would fight fiercely to protect and cherish, are they not?"

Yes, Sirius admitted, he had a point. Anna was, however unconventionally, a friend he hadn't expected to make in the pit of vipers here. "I suppose you're right."

"And you—" Nott whirled on Snape. "I think you suspect just _why _I handpicked you as the best person to entrust my daughter's safety to. _You _have had ample experience of the life I do not wish on anyone, least of all Anna—the life of a ward to a Pureblood who cares not for their charge's wellbeing but the talents they can offer. You understand, better than Black can, what is at stake and the best ways to out-Slytherin the king snakes themselves. I practically watched you grow up, Snape—taught you, saw you interact with your peers and still hold yourself apart. You walk in the Dark, Severus Snape, and yet you follow a strict code of your own making that is as honorable as that of any shining Gryffindor or man of the Light, and I know you will not fall prey to the weaknesses that harangue your peers and contemporaries. Who better to ward off those skilled in manipulation and the blackest magics than one equally talented and accustomed to their tactics and way of thinking? You are a smart boy, Snape. That business with Rosier was a momentary aberration, one, if I am not mistaken, you are still paying for. You won't be making the same mistake twice. And I would rather have Anna in your care than that scumbag's."

_I hate all of this hinting at something going on with Snape and his past that I don't understand, and no one telling me, _Sirius thought grumpily as he watched a variety of emotions flicker across the pallid face. Even now, when Snape's guard was obviously down, his emotions flashed by too fast for Sirius to catch or comprehend. Nott seemed to understand though, because he stopped speaking and just waited.

Finally, Snape spoke. "And what are you willing to pay as the price for your daughter's full protection—under Oath, as I assume you want it?"

_"Snape! _You ruddy git! How can you talk about payments when it's Anna's _life _at stake?" Sirius was furious. "I don't believe you, you calculating cheat. You vile, disgusting, _thieving…_"

"Black." Nott's dry voice broke through Sirius' impassioned rant. Bewildered, Sirius turned to face him. "It's all right. I thank you for your defense of my daughter, but perhaps you don't understand the situation."

_Understand? I understand just fine that Snape is planning on asking for repayment for what he ought to be doing without thinking of his own benefit. Bloody mercenary! I should have known he wouldn't change. He may be more polite here, he may have taken some of my punishment for me, but he's still a damn stone-cold reptile, _Sirius fumed in his mind.

"It is the way of things here, young Black. You of the Light automatically perform things for each other without having to ask, because it is…right." Nott smiled twistedly. "It is a noble trait, one I admire as much as I cannot grasp the concept. No, Mister Snape is within his full rights to ask what the price of such an important favor is, and I was expecting it even. In fact, I would immediately be suspicious if he had _not _asked. It is not in the way of Slytherins, or Purebloods, to give anything for free. Not in our culture; it would immediately be viewed with much suspect if one did not claim a price for a favor. It is the way we work, and our existence would collapse completely if this system were to be abandoned. We are too aware of reality, of the need of having ties, alliances, and favors to call in—it takes the place, you could say, of the bond of trust you Gryffindors prize so much. That way, I am not indebted to Mister Snape, and I can trust him to carry out what I have asked of him."

Sirius still couldn't comprehend the utter _callousness _of this type of action, that it was common and _expected _among these degenerate aristocrats. How could anyone live with such values—or lack of them, more accurately—he didn't know. But Nott was speaking to them both now, although more towards Snape, and he forced himself back into the conversation at hand.

"I do not have the resources or influence to help you out with the predicament I fear you have found yourself in with that demonic spawn of my esteemed colleague, Snape, but I _can _arrange for certain…distractions to coincidentally take Rosier's attention for the rest of the summer, short time as it is, and I can mention your name to my old friend of mine, who happens to be a Potions Master in Italy. As you know, Italy has almost no class of Pureblood high society, since that spot has been filled by the mafia leaders. You'll be left alone there if you wish to pursue an apprenticeship in Potions, and I hear it takes four grueling years plus almost certain traveling with your Master if his own job requires mobility, which my friend's does. That would give you almost no contact with Britain, France, Germany, or any of the established Pureblood courts, since the Wizarding mafia are quite strict on who comes in and out of their borders, and they don't hold with Pureblooded high culture."

Sirius peered at Snape, who had slowly stilled until he looked like a statue—except for his bottomless dark eyes, which had only deepened. _Just what does Snape want to run from? Granted, this isn't the greatest of places to be around with all the blood-maniacs and Dark witches and wizards, but I thought Snape _liked _that. Something to do with Rosier or his past, perhaps? Anna and her father have certainly hinted at something along those lines. _

"And how would I protect your daughter while in Italy, Mister Nott?"

"I would only ask that you keep her safe this summer and in your last year at Hogwarts, since that is the crucial period." The last was muttered, almost to himself, but Nott quickly regained his volume. "However, I'd also require that you maintain reliable and constant contact with her and with Black, since I assume that Mister Black is staying in Britain?" The last was directed at Sirius, who bobbed his head up and down. "If anything significant requiring your specific presence occurs, I'd expect you to return temporarily to Britain to take care of it, but I am sure you have an entire network of people who owe you favors by now." Snape didn't reply Nott's shrewd question, but a gleam entered his eye and Sirius blinked. _Slimy self-serving Slytherin. But then he has never been anything different, has he? Why am I expecting more of him suddenly? Plus, his underhanded tactics and unscrupulous methods might save Anna, so I can't really complain, since I'd cash in any favor someone owed me if I had to play a role like Snape. Thank goodness Nott doesn't expect me to do that. _

"If you can ensure Italy, I think we can work out an agreement, Mister Nott," Snape stated, imperturbably professional.

Nott turned to Sirius. "As for you, young man, I have a similar offer for you. I have many friends within the Aurory who can certainly be persuaded to take a closer look at your application—I hear that you were looking in that direction for after graduation…?"

"No," Sirius rebuffed vehemently, shaking his head firmly. "I don't want to get in based on someone's influence or threats or whatever. I want to get in on my own works, or not at all."

"Ah. Very honorable indeed, Mister Black. Then perhaps…something less grandiose for you, I think. I know your mother had some information that forced you into coming this summer? About a particular friend of yours, Remus Lupin?" Both boys stiffened—Snape didn't look at Sirius, but his shoulders and entire body was stiff and tense, held tightly almost as if he wanted to flee. _Had Snape really been so scared of the werewolf? _Sirius had never seen Remus that ferocious—the werewolf had always been like an animal version of Moony, only rougher and more prone to biting the Animagi. For the most part, they'd only gamboled and played together. It had been luck that James had only just conquered his stag form the weekend before, although Sirius and Peter hadn't, and so only James—and Snape—had seen the werewolf that Moony had been before the presence of his three best friends each full moon calmed him.

"How did you—"

"Find out?" Nott laughed. "Walburga always did like me more than was proper for a married woman. I persuaded her to give me the details on just how she'd managed to get her wayward heir to come to the Gathering this year. She called in a very old favor from someone working quite high up in the Ministry, you know. Since you refuse the assistance in your career, perhaps you'd like me to take care of the information your mother so carelessly holds, and make it so your friend won't have to worry about any bribe or favor uncovering his secret in the future?"

The overwhelming relief was almost too much to handle for Sirius. He'd worried endlessly about it since his mother had revealed her knowledge to him. "You can do that for Remus? Hide that information, make my mother keep her mouth shut?"

Nott smiled, a hard, un-humorous smile. "I still do have enough influence to be able to accomplish that much, young Black. And—do not worry about your mother. She cannot reveal what she does not know, now can she?"

Sirius gaped at the middle-aged man. "You mean—"

"Yes. It is already done. It was remarkably easy to Obliviate her, considering that she used to be one of the best and most paranoid of our generation. Alas, I fear that life as a wife and mother has not been good to her reflexes."

"_Thank you! _You have no idea what this means to me, to Remus…" Sirius tried to imagine Moony's expression when Sirius could tell him of the bargain Sirius had struck with Nott and it's consequences, and failed to adequately picture it. _Moony will be ecstatic. Heck, _I'm _ecstatic! Now no one else knows but Dumbledore, his parents, us, and—Snape. _Sirius dropped back down to earth with that last thought. _How can we ever be sure Snape won't drop that bit of information for some money or something else he wants? He promised Dumbledore, but that doesn't make him trustable. And Mister Nott _did _say about Snape being a great secret holder _only _if the right price was paid, not before. _Ignoring the sour note in his stomach, Sirius resolved to have a private talk with Snape later.

Chuckling, Nott commented, "I gather that I have an agreement for services exchanged, then?"

"Yes!" Sirius said fervently.

"Yes," Snape acknowledged quietly.

"Then you won't mind if we invoke the Oath now? I have all we need for the ritual," Nott enquired. He drew out a small, glinting silver dagger.

Sirius eyed it cautiously. "What is the procedure? I've never done this before."

"You plan on doing a Blood Oath then, instead of a Wand or Unbreakable?" Snape observed.

"Yes. Blood Oath is much more flexible in its terms and more rigid in its ultimate purpose. That's the best for the unstructured sort of thing I'm asking of you two," Nott explained. Then an ironic sneer crossed his face. "Of course, it's also widely considered to be Dark magic, so it's less popular—although that could be because it's harder to find a loophole without dying."

"Dying?" Sirius began to feel nervous.

Snape addressed Sirius, the first time he'd done so in a while. "Just like an Unbreakable Vow—and I know you know about that, since you actually _passed _that quiz in Charms last year—an Oath-breaker will die with all the blood boiling in his veins. Blood Oath is about the _intent, _not the actual script. If you promise under a Wand Oath or Unbreakable Vow to protect Anna, you would die or go insane if you'd been out of the country and Anna was killed and the exact terms had been to protect her, not to _do your best _to protect her. In Blood Oaths, you can swear to protect her and if you'd been out of the country when she was killed, you would not be held responsible by the vow. However, there are, as Mister Nott has mentioned, almost no loopholes in Blood Oaths, and if you are not completely and truly willing to do what you are swearing to do, you will die during the Oath or even drop dead in the street some day in the future if the bond senses that you mean ill to the girl, even if she remains perfectly safe."

_That would be why it's considered Dark, I bet, _Sirius thought. _An Oath where the vow-taker drops dead during the ritual isn't exactly something people would consider _good. _But it should suit our purposes, and I don't think even the Headmaster would disagree with it in this case. _Sirius looked up. "So how does one exactly perform a Blood Oath?"

**Author's Notes:**

_My apologies for the wait for this chapter! I'm moving and chaos is ensuing at the moment. Hopefully the next time you here from me, I'll be in my new country of residence though!_

_The chapter title comes from the book "Romance of the Three Kingdoms," in which three characters take an oath of fraternity in a peach garden. The purpose for swearing brotherly loyalty to each other was to protect the Han Dynasty. _

_Please review? _


	8. PostSecret

**Warning and Disclaimer: There is unpleasantness ahead. Noncon and other touchy or possible triggering topics will be discussed (though not, I promise, graphically described). PLEASE be sure that you're okay to read ahead. I do NOT condone anything you may read in this chapter. **

Sirius examined the small horizontal cut slashed across his palm, which was healing even as he watched. It turned into a pink welt and then slowly faded until it was a single thin white line, barely noticeable, marring the lines of his hand. _I wonder what the old fart teaching Divination would say about how it cuts through my life-line. Probably some rubbish about how my life will be tragically cut short from some appropriately depressing and unstoppable disaster. Fraud. _

Snape cleared his throat impatiently. "Well, what is so important that you had to ask me to stay here for a few moments?"

"Oh." Sirius stared at his palm once more, and then looked up directly at Snape. Nott had left after the Blood Oath, and the distant rustling, along with the occasional cricket chirp, was the only noise Sirius could hear. "I just wanted to tell you that you had bloody well keep Remus' secret. I'm not going to have all of Mister Nott's efforts wasted if you happen to slip up, or decide to share the gossip with someone…"

"How _dare _you question my abilities to keep your pet wolf's secret? You have no right, no right at all, Black, to come barging in with accusations. I swore that I wouldn't tell the secret, and I do not break promises."

Snape's black eyes were sparking with temper, and he actually advanced several threatening steps, wand out, before stopping. Sirius stared boldly back. "Still, how can I be _certain—" _

"I see. You would not take the simple word of a Slytherin—or perhaps just me—that your idiotic little friend's _dark secret _is safe with me. _Despite _the fact that Nott just confirmed in front of you that I was the best secret holder in the entire school? I hold secrets far more important than that of your despicable actions and Lupin's condition. Would it surprise you, I wonder, if I told you I even hold many secrets from the students in _Gryffindor?" _The scathing, vitriolic tone was all too familiar—it was the kind of tone Snape would have used back in Hogwarts to deride and sling back insults at the Marauders, the tone that Snape had never yet taken here at _Chateau Malfoy_ until now. Why was he so angry? Could he be actually _offended _that Sirius didn't believe in his abilities to hold Moony's secret safe?

"Well—" Sirius couldn't answer. He looked down, vacantly noting that the stones that made up the charming gazebo they were in was just as smooth and perfect looking as the ceiling in his room, only a different texture and shade.

"If you cannot believe in my trustworthiness, then you can breathe a sigh of relief. Your precious _Headmaster _couldn't find it in himself to trust me either, and forced me to take a Wand Oath after you and Potter had left the office."

_That _was a shock. "_What?" _

"He didn't ever inform you, did he? Your great idol told me in strictest terms that I would perform the Oath, or he would expel _me _for practicing Dark magic in school, which I had not done—that sort of thing belongs in the summers, not in a school full of innocents. Even _Rosier _adheres to _that _rule, if not the others. But he is the headmaster, and I a well-known enthusiast of the Dark Arts. I took the Wand Oath, swearing that I would not reveal your friend's secret under any circumstances, _even life-threatening, _before his graduation. If I reveal it, even inadvertently, I may not die—but I will assuredly be driven mad by the broken Oath."

"I can't…he wouldn't…Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that to anyone!" Sirius protested weakly, reeling from Snape's revelation.

"Oh, but he would if he is protecting one of his favored Gryffindor students, Black, at the cost of a student already long-lost to the Dark. And do you know what the big laugh is? I _would _have been quite willing to stay quiet on the knowledge even without the blackmail and the Oath. You have seen the bargaining ritual of two Slytherins, two raised in the Pureblood elite. I would have been quite content to let the information I hold remain in the dark for the simple exchange of being left alone the rest of our schooling. The rivalry between your little gang and I is distracting at best, dangerous waters at the worst. Do you know how many times I nearly killed you or Potter? So many times, a simple command and both of you would have been on the floor screaming, dying—you've seen the many choices I have at my disposal. All I had to do was ignore the one little rule of not practicing Dark spells in Hogwarts, and both of you would have been gone from my life forever. It is a seductive call, Black. I didn't want to have the allurement there every time you called me names or hung me upside down or changed the color of my robes. If we left each other completely alone, I would have been more than happy to keep silent—_forever. _Dumbledore's too-hasty Oath now gives _me _the advantage, for if I wish I could announce it from the rooftops the day after graduation. No one would hire him. No one would wish to serve him. He would be a pariah. I hold that power now, and you have _Dumbledore _to thank, really."

"But…" Sirius began to feel nauseous. Dumbledore had _forced _Snape, had _blackmailed _his classmate into taking an unwilling Oath that could result in insanity for life. He had done it, purportedly for Remus' sake, but what of Snape? What did his longtime nemesis suffer when the person who was supposed to be completely unbiased and fair and concerned about all the students' wellbeing betrayed him? Sirius couldn't fathom how Snape must have felt. He met the dark boy's eyes, and saw a grim sort of satisfaction in them. Almost as if he were taking his revenge on the man who had let him down and turned his back on a boy who needed his help by—gods help him—making Sirius hate him too. Sirius didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think the Headmaster capable of such an act, but with a sinking feeling, he knew he Snape was not lying. Not about something like this, and not with that triumphant and blatantly threatening ending.

"Gods, Snape. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he replied flippantly. "It was only the latest in the many actions Dumbledore has taken in the past to protect those he sees value in from those he considers lost already."

"Still, he shouldn't have done that."

"No, but it is done and you have no need to worry over it-it—_yet." _

Sirius drew a shaky breath. "What would your price be, to stay silent _after _the vow runs it's length?"

Snape considered it with a tilt of his head. "An undisclosed favor. From all of you." He watched as Sirius slowly comprehended the ramifications of his demand. _All of us. That means all four of us, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail as well. And—oh Merlin—_undisclosed. _He could ask us to kill someone and we'd have to do it if we couldn't persuade him to ask for something else. _

He let out a huff of air. "I'd have to consult the others."

"Of course. Take all the time you need. You have until the vow runs out next year to decide." Snape began to raise his wand to take down the Eavesdropper's Bane—as Sirius had learnt, was the name that Snape and Anna had come up with for their privacy spell. "If that's all—"

"No," Sirius blurted out before he could stop himself. Snape paused, wand half up. "I mean, uh—it's not time for dinner yet, it's barely dusk! I thought perhaps we could, you know, talk or something. I mean, there's really no one else to talk to because they're either scared shitless by Rosier or too cautious to talk to me without anyone seeing. And I'm bored, and I want to get to know you better."

Snape quirked an eyebrow. "You…want to get to know me better?"

"Well, yeah. Oh come on, don't look at me like that. You're bloody mysterious! You act totally different here than in school, and the funny thing is, you're nicer _here, _casually practicing the Darkest magic, than in Hogwarts when you say no one performs any. You act like a bastard or ignore me, then you take the punishment Rosier had for me. Oh, and add that to the fact that _everyone _seems to refer to something in your past and something you're dealing with now, and yet no one will tell me anything! I didn't even know that Lucius Malfoy was your guardian until I came here, and I certainly didn't know that you were a Half—" Sirius stopped abruptly, afraid of angering Snape.

"A Halfblood? Yes, I suppose that's not widely circulated," Snape murmured. "As to the rest, it is really none of your business why I act the way I do, or what is happening in my life. Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to leave."

Before Snape could lift his wand again, Sirius recklessly dove forward and snatched it from him. "No! I want to know." Snape stood still, fists clenched in fury.

"Give me back my wand."

"No. Tell me what's happening. I know it has something to do with Rosier. Nott said that you made a mistake with him once and you're still paying for it. Was that why I saw you come out of Rosier's room that night? Is that why you hate him so much? Granted, I think _everyone _hates him, but you seem to loathe him even more than I do—I can tell, I've seen you furious before, remember? Even if you're good at hiding it. Come on, Snape—Severus—it can't be good for your health to keep it all inside. I'm just curious, and I just want to help." Sirius was wildly guessing about Rosier having to do with Snape's mysterious trouble, but as Snape paled, he knew he had hit the nail on the head.

"No. Give. Me. My. Wand." Snape spat, gritting his teeth.

Sirius shook his head. "Severus, we're going to have to work together at least minimally to keep Anna safe. We have to trust each other to a certain point. That means sharing our troubles. Maybe I can help. We could gang up on Rosier and force him to…well, do whatever you wanted him to do. He certainly can't take on two skilled people at once. And if he is mixed up in your life, it could affect how you're going to be able to protect Anna. And if he is mixed up in your life, it could affect how you're going to be able to protect Anna. Look, I'll even tell you one of _my _big secrets. When I was younger, I almost killed my own brother by accident. He was still only six, and our mother took us to Azkaban and put us in the waiting room while she visited some relative of hers. I convinced Regulus that it was okay if we explored, and somehow we ended up in the way of three Dementors. I ran, and left my younger brother behind, cornered by three damn Dementors, and if a guard hadn't heard my screaming and come to investigate, Regulus would have been Kissed, whether or not the Dementors were supposed to do that. That's partly why my brother resents me so much now, even though he says he forgave me for that incident. I've never forgiven myself."

"Touching, Black, but I'm in no mood for sharing sentimental stories of how inclined you were even as a child to inadvertently attempt to kill people. Give me my wand, or I will make you rue having taken it from me."

"What is between you and Rosier, Snape? Why are you so reticent about it?" Sirius narrowed his eyes and arbitrarily conjectured. "Is he buggering you?"

He hadn't thought about it, had only said it to make Snape angry enough to perhaps blurt out the truth now that he was in the kind of unthinking blind fury he was familiar with from Hogwarts. But Snape stiffened and, if it was possible, turned sheet white.

"_Merlin's fucking balls, _he's buggering you?" Sirius yelped, unaware of his own high-pitched and undignified squeak and crude epithet in his shock. The blood drained from his face when Snape didn't answer.

"Do you _enjoy _it, Snape? Are you fucking _gay?" _Now, Sirius had no problem with homosexuals—hell, he himself was somewhat vaguely bisexual so he could hardly be the moral meter for such things. But the very thought of Snape, gay, was something that had _never _crossed his mind—not in the least because it had seemed, from his friendship and desperation after the Levitation Prank, that he'd suffered an unrequited crush on Lily (or that was what the Marauders, particularly James, thought). They'd never considered other possibilities…

Snape flung out arm in a sharp arc, and a bolt of _black _raced from his pointed finger. Before Sirius could react, it hit the ground an inch from his feet in an explosion, blasting the grey stone. Sirius hollered and jumped back as shrapnel from the broken stone flew up in a cloud of dust and peppered his skin in little cuts and bruises, one piece flying up to hit his cheek. As the dust from the blasted stone cleared, Sirius could once again see Snape, trembling from head to toe in anger. Snape took a menacing step forward—automatically, Sirius backed up a step.

"Do not _ever _repeat that again, not in my presence and not out of it, if you wish to live. Stay out of my business, Black. I mean it," Snape hissed, each word punctuated and savage. He reached out and snatched his wand from Sirius' limp hand, flicking it to take down the privacy spell before striding off without looking back. Sirius slid to the floor, ignoring the tiny bits of gravel he was kneeling on, to stare after the boy he no longer knew or understood—had _never _understood.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

How was he supposed to act now that he'd inadvertently stumbled on Snape's secret? _Okay, perhaps not so much stumbled as extracted, _Sirius admitted shamefully to himself. _I should have just left it well alone. Snape warned me, _Anna _warned me a while back not to push—and what did I do? I went and pushed. Well, Sirius, congratulations. You've found out what you wanted to, and you really wish you could erase it all from your head, don't you? _Sirius glanced up at the rapidly darkening sky just as the first few fat drops of rain splatted down, on hitting his nose, another just missing his eye. _Fantastic. Even the weather is furious at me, and I can't blame it. _Climbing to his feet with shaky knees, Sirius winced at the numerous small cuts and stone-bruises he'd accumulated from the blast—_wandless magic. Snape did wandless magic. That's extremely rare! How did he do it? _

Picking up the wand he'd dropped, Sirius began muttering the elementary healing spells he knew, closing the scrapes and cuts. He couldn't do anything for the bruises, but he figured he deserved them anyway. _I wonder what dinner will be like, _he thought uneasily, turning to head inside. Then he stopped and tilted his head. _What about that shattered stone? I can't very well just leave it there. The groundskeeper will find it and tell the Malfoys, and the Malfoys will know something's up. _

Before he'd discovered Rosier's duplicity, Evan had told him some scary stories about the groundskeeper who stayed at the small cottage the Malfoys instructed everyone to stay away from. _"He's so paranoid that he actually sacrificed a human—one of the Muggles from around—to erect blood wards. They only let him, his cat, and the Malfoys enter. Anyone else would die if you even touched the door or the wall of the house. Not a pretty death either. I've seen all sorts of animals dead around the perimeter, and all of them look petrified, like they'd been _scared _to death. _

Well, Sirius didn't know what was truth and what was false, but he did know everyone avoided the cottage like the plague, so he figured it would be best not to arouse the suspicion of such a paranoid man. He had to fix the stone.

_But how? I don't even know what kind of spell Snape used to blast it apart. _Sirius walked around the stone, staring at it thoughtfully. Reparo_? Well, it can't hurt to try. _Aiming, Sirius intoned, "_Reparo_!"

Dust flew—gravel crunched. Sirius jumped back hastily and sneezed. When he opened his eyes, the stone was actually back together again, whole and unmarred. _Well, that was relatively painless. It can't have been a very complicated or Dark spell if a simple Reparo could fix it. But then, I doubt _anyone, _even Snape, could have pulled off a wandless, wordless spell any higher than what seems to be an elementary Blasting hex amplified, _Sirius contemplated as he hurried back to _Chateau Malfoy_, narrowly missing a flowerbed of brightly-colored blossoms in his ruminations and nervous anxiety.

He was nearly late—everyone else had sat already. Sirius slipped into his seat with relief as Lord Malfoy gestured for the food to appear. Snape was there, in his usual seat. Sirius suppressed his urge to stare. _Look at the food, Sirius. Concentrate on the food, nothing but the food. _James would have laughed at the irony of Sirius Black being unable to concentrate on a meal—it seemed impossible when the person in question was Sirius Black, devourer of everything in sight not nailed down.

But it was true: Sirius couldn't, no matter how hard he tried, keep his mind on the food. He jerked his wandering eye before it lighted on Snape, and caught himself fiddling with his fork and then pushing his food back and forth on the plate absently. Dinner had never lasted so long—Sirius exhaled with relief when it was over. Again, he'd been ignored on the whole by the table, and he'd ignored them right back. Sirius got up quickly, only to see the back of Snape as the boy exited swiftly, the first to leave. _Hellfires. Should I follow him? What would I say, other than sorry? _Frozen in indecision, Sirius stared at the empty doorway until a movement behind him had him spinning. It was Anna—she looked at him neutrally and blinked once. Then she left, and Sirius heard her voice echoing back down the hallway as she spoke with her companion. "Charlotte, just go ahead would you? I have to find something in the Library first. I'll come to your room in an hour, sound okay?"

A murmur told Sirius that Greengrass was answering, but her voice was too soft and far away to distinguish. _Library. I guess Anna wants to meet me there. I'm getting better at covert signals. That's one good thing about this summer, I guess, though it's a pitiful silver lining. I wonder if James and Remus would be able to pick it up easily? Peter probably would, and he's had a summer here for experience besides. _Shaking himself out of his reverie, Sirius began to walk around almost aimlessly, heading towards his room before turning down another corridor, looping around, and passing the small parlor. He didn't want to lead anyone straight to the Library after all—they would suspect Anna's collusion with him.

When he entered the Library, Anna was ensconced in her favorite armchair, buried in a book—Sirius caught a glimpse of the title as she closed the cover. _Modern Buildings and Designs of the Wizarding World. _"Sirius. You looked troubled during dinner. Do you need an ear?"

Sighing heavily, Sirius sat and stared off into space. "It's complicated."

"Is it now?"

"Yes. Damn it, it's always complicated with Snape!"

"Ah. What did he do this time?"

"It's not what he did! It's what he's _doing!" _Sirius exclaimed. The expectant pause lengthened. Sirius elaborated, "With Rosier."

Instantly, Anna's eyes darkened and her hands stilled. "What do you know? Who told you?" she demanded.

"They're buggering each other! Snape himself told me!"

"He _told _you?" Anna said incredulously.

It was Sirius' turn to look down, ashamed. "Well, not really. I sort of goaded him into as good as admitting it. Now I wish I hadn't. I can't get the images out of my head! And how can Snape do…_that…_with _him?" _It was sickening.

Anna shot up, wand pointing at Sirius. Instinctively, Sirius ducked and yanked out his wand as well. They stood there for a moment, and then slowly, Anna slid her wand back into her robes, face a blank—completely unlike the Anna he knew privately, she had reverted back to the imperious Pureblood. Sirius didn't like it, and didn't understand it, but he put his wand away as well, warily watching her.

Anna finally spoke. "Don't you _dare _accuse anyone without proof."

"But he—"

"I don't _care _what he did or didn't do for you to think he confirmed your wild guess. I don't waste my time with people who chase after scandalous rumors, and I don't waste my time with people who believe and would judge without evidence. I don't believe you, Sirius Black. I thought you understood us, especially after our talk, after you asked for help in understanding." Anna was still motionless, her lips the only thing moving as she coldly rebuked Sirius. "Now, we will sit down like civilized people and talk about this without wild accusations and useless emotion. It has no place here. Control yourself, Black, and you may have the option of either Obliviation or swearing silence."

Disbelievingly, Sirius whispered, "You would choose Snape over me? You're not even friends with him."

Her eyes flashed. "I hold to my honor. I thought it was a trait Gryffindors applauded. Apparently I was mistaken. Snape has been a congenial partner in the past, and he's helped me out a couple times—and he seems to understand me better than _you _do, Black."

Her words cut deeper than Sirius would have imagined from a girl two years younger than him and whom he'd only known for the summer. He dropped back down to his seat numbly, hands in clenched fists as he strove to control his anger and hurt.

She took her seat again, this time sitting primly in the way of a Pureblood lady rather than her favorite pose of curling her legs up underneath herself. "Now, explain to me just what occurred between you and Severus."

Sirius launched into his explanation, feeling twin shots of resentment and guilt. When he'd finished his story (leaving out the part where her father had confided his life expectancy to them and bound them with a Blood Oath to protect his daughter), Anna sat back and clasped her hands together. "So, you drew conclusions from a silence and a non-reply. How Slytherin of you, Black." Sirius bit back his riposte, grinding his jaw in silent fury.

"I will tell you what I know, if you will swear a full Blood Oath of silence."

_Another one! Two in one day, what are the chances…dear Merlin, I've never seen this side of Anna before—it's like she's an ice queen. Her eyes are like chips of the sea, _Sirius thought before realizing his track of thought and violently jerking his mind back to the matter at hand. Anna patiently said, "A Blood Oath is—"

"I know what a Blood Oath is," Sirius roughly interrupted. Anna pursed her lips. "I'll take it if you force me to, but I'd rather simply swear on my…_my what? What is she likely to believe me capable of?..._my loyalty to those I consider friends, that I will not tell a soul, not even those closest to my heart."

He held his breath, watching Anna as she pondered it. "I know only the Pureblood way of magical vow or price-binding," she finally admitted. "I know lots of other people place a lot of trust on a spoken promise. I think—" she paused, and then went on, "I think that perhaps I will test out a theory I've been working on." She smiled.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"If this works, my friend is calling it the Word Oath," she informed Sirius as she handed him the "contract"—a piece of expensive parchment of creamy texture with a tiny sigil in the upper left corner: an elaborately inked black hoop linked with an identical circle of yellow (for loyalty, like the Hufflepuffs, she'd told him). She'd already written something on the top of the parchment: the oath as binder, a simple sentence to explain her promise to "hold Sirius Black to his honor and keep the faith".

In his turn, Sirius copied out his sentence from a scrap of paper onto the official paper, promising to uphold his integrity by maintaining silence on Severus Snape's secrets until such a time when aforementioned person gave permission, or if the information was crucial between life and death.

_I, Sirius Black…_

When he'd sealed the oath with his signature, Anna took the quill and parchment from him, scanning the contract intently. "It looks good. Now we just have to finish it." She tapped the parchment with her wand at the same time as Sirius. "So we intend, so let it be done," they recited together—and the small insignia at the corner of the paper glowed.

"Guess it worked," Anna said delightedly. "I'll have to tell my friend that I tested it out and it worked—or it should have," she added. "My friend will be happy. He hasn't been able to test it on enough subjects yet, and he didn't want to let too many people know in case someone works out how the parchment and Oath works and patents it before he does."

"Sirius rubbed his hands together briskly. "If it does work, he'll be a rich man whoever he is. It's the perfect blend of trust and magical vows. You said that it relies on a person's character and intent in signing it?"

"Yes. If the person was planning to renege or has a character that is completely untrustworthy, the parchment would have burnt itself," Anna confirmed.

Settling back, Sirius eyed Anna hesitantly. "So…"

"So. Severus." Anna sat back as well. She didn't tuck her legs up, but her posture was more relaxed than the one she'd held up till now. "It all started out innocently enough, I believe—the summer after Snape's and Rosier's fifth year," she began contemplatively. "Up till then, Rosier hadn't really paid attention to Snape. He was simply one of the entourage, in the background, noticeable only by virtue of his feud with the Marauders and his unconventional friendship with Lily Evans." Sirius nodded, silently encouraging Anna to continue.

"Snape was always a loner, but on the last day of his OWLs…well, I'm sure you know better than I what happened to isolate him further in the shadows."

"Sirius shifted uncomfortably. "He called Lily a Mudblood."

"Yes."

"It's a nasty name."

Anna regarded him coolly. "You hear it all the time here. So did Snape. It was very easy to let the word slip if those you are surrounded by use it commonly, casually. It is only a name, after all, the same way _bloody bastard _or _Slytherin git _are all names." Sirius blushed. He'd used those terms casually of Snape.

"But to continue—Severus came to Summer Gathering that year devastated—oh, everyone could see it, despite his skills in hiding things. After growing up with each other, living with each other every summer, there are small hints that we can pick up about each other. And when we got to dueling lessons—well, let's just say he'd been practicing ferociously everyday since he'd arrived at _Chateau Malfoy_. He shot from some low rank like 24th to 2nd, and Evan Rosier began to pay attention. In retrospect, I suppose it would have been smarter to slowly work your way up so it wouldn't be noticed, because it was the huge jump in skill that caught Rosier's eye. And if it is one thing Rosier is good at, it's turning a potential rival into a valuable vassal."

"And Snape had just become a potential rival," Sirius guessed.

"Got it in one. Snape was never close to anyone here—no, not even me," Anna remarked. "We'd worked together on a wholly professional level and we respected each other's skills, but that was it. When Rosier began to pay special attention to Snape, it was—heady. _You _know." Sirius thought back to his first weeks at _Chateau Malfoy_, and agreed.

"I don't know Snape's inclinations, and it's none of my business. I truly think that at that point, it was flattering to Snape that someone beautiful—regardless of gender—was paying attention to him. I do think it was voluntary on both sides for some time." Anna quirked her mouth at Sirius' pulled face of disgust. "I recall a certain somebody telling me that he was comfortable being with both sexes?"

"That's different," Sirius protested. "It never involved _Rosier._"

"And can you honestly say that you wouldn't have considered a fling if you had never seen through him before he began to make overt gestures welcoming you to his bed?"

_I wouldn't have! It just doesn't bear thinking about…but…but I did, didn't I? Oh not consciously, but I never told Evan to stop brushing against me, the brief hand on my shoulder or arm, the intense gazes…you never told Evan to stop doing that, did you Black? You just sat back and enjoyed the attention, didn't you? _Sirius gulped, casting his eyes at the stiff bookshelves, the dark armchairs, the velvety carpet, anywhere but where Anna's knowing eyes seemed to pierce all his armor and see things in Sirius he couldn't see in himself, even.

Thankfully, Anna moved on before the silence became too strained. "I don't know what happened between them, but one day mid-summer, Snape had been relegated down near the end of the table and both of them were pointedly ignoring each other. It's been like that ever since, _publicly_—Snape and Rosier address each other only when necessary, and even the teachers know not to pair them up if possible. But the walls here have eyes and ears, and Rosier is not particularly discreet." Anna narrowed her eyes, small body tensing up again in remembered anger. "Whatever Rosier holds over Snape, it is important because Snape has never turned away Rosier's advances, most of which occur late at night. Before he learnt how to perfect his own healing spells, he was in the Blue Room several days a week, getting treated for—many things."

Sirius shuddered. _Voluntarily, _it was bad enough to share your bed with a basilisk. To be blackmailed into it? _I think I'd rather die. I thought Rosier was a demonic person—I was wrong. He's worse: he's a fucking monster. No one deserves that. _He didn't want to hear it, but Sirius found himself almost whispering it: "What things?"

"Unpleasant injuries. Many times, flesh raw till bleeding point from restraints he must have fought—unceasing bleeding, broken bones and sprained muscles, and bruises—many, many bruises. Often, thin cuts in patterns on different parts of his body." Anna shut her eyes tightly. "I did not see it—Healer Greengrass set up some very hefty wards after Snape re-opened his wounds the first time when someone other than her walked in, trying to get away."

_Oh ye gods. I'm going to—_Sirius had barely conjured Anna's long-forgotten book into a basin before he retched until he had made eating dinner pointless. Dry-heaving, he Vanished the entire mess. Something cool touched his arm—Anna was holding a glass of water out to him wordlessly. Red-faced, Sirius gulped down the cool water, swirling it around his mouth to rid himself of the sour acidic taste of bile and smiled at her weakly in gratitude.

"All better?"

"Yeah. I wasn't feeling very good in the first place, and what you told me…is just _wrong." _Sirius drank the last of the water, and with a flick of Anna's wand, it was once again a plain bookmark.

Anna picked it up with a slanted smirk at Sirius. "Not many girls can say that they've had their copy of _Buildings and Designs of the Wizarding World _vomited in and their favorite bookmark drunk out of by Sirius Black," she teased.

Sirius glowered. "Don't you dare tell anyone!"

"Don't worry, your secret is safe with me," she assured him, grinning. Then she sobered. "Snape's injuries might have been worse—after that point, Healer Greengrass stopped allowing people to see her charts. I only know this much because Charlotte told me. Charlotte was helping her mother by sending for extra potions and things from St. Mungo's, because they were running out. After three weeks, Snape abruptly stopped going to Healer Greengrass, but Charlotte told me that her mother was worried because he'd made her teach him all the healing spells she'd used and the names of the potions as well—Healer Greengrass _hates _self-medicating people. But she couldn't do anything about it if neither he nor his guardian brought him in." Anna stared intently at Sirius, then solemnly stated, "Rosier took it back to Hogwarts. Much less frequently and Snape showed up with less injuries—although I don't know whether that's because he was getting better at healing spells or receiving less of them. And that's how things stand now—no one will acknowledge it or speak of it, because it isn't their place. The two people who _could _interfere, Lucius Malfoy and Owen Rosier, have not done so. And whatever Rosier has on Snape, it's important enough for Snape not to put Rosier back in his place—and he _can, _you saw him in that duel."

Anna sighed a little. "And that is what I know."

"I didn't know—I never imagined—" Sirius was speechless with horror, a horror that had grown steadily throughout Anna's narrative. _Monster. Bastard. Rosier is true evil, on the same par as Voldemort. And Lucius Malfoy and Owen Rosier are just as bad by looking away when they are in the position to _help _Snape. Gods, I dislike the little ponce, but I wouldn't wish that kind of fate on _anyone! _It's glorified rape. It's revolting. _Sirius couldn't think up a description bad enough to encompass what he'd heard. _I should have just chosen that_ Obliviate_ instead, _he thought sadly, sickened to his soul. _Why must I always go sticking my nose in to exactly the wrong thing? No wonder Snape blew up at me. It's just a wonder he didn't blast off my _head _instead of that stone. I'm not sure I could have held back if I were him. Merlin…_ "If I'd known…"

"Don't treat him any differently," Anna said immediately. "He would resent it and simply hate you more, for if it's one thing no Slytherin can stand, it's pity. You can't treat him any differently than before. In fact, I'd suggest pretending that nothing happened—it gives Snape the out of simply ignoring the fact that you know. It saves his dignity that way."

"You know best, of course," Sirius acquiesced reluctantly. "Still, are you sure we couldn't tell Dumbledore or someone? Someone who can _stop _what's happening…"

"No!" Anna cried vehemently. She quickly lowered her voice, despite the Eavesdropper's Bane, but she was still agitated. "No," she repeated. "It would be one of the worst things you could do. Just…trust me on this, Sirius. Snape would never forgive you for it, and it wouldn't make anything better at all."

"If you're sure…"

"Yes." Anna was firm.

"Okay. I'll stick to my promise," Sirius agreed reluctantly.

"Good. Now all you have to do is go back and act like nothing has changed between the two of you—you still consider him a minger and he still thinks you're a braggart and a pillock. Got it?"

"Got it," Sirius replied promptly. "I've just received orders to continue playing pranks on Snape and generally irritating the heck out of him. _Ouch!" _Sirius rubbed his arm mock-sullenly. "I was just repeating what you said!"

"I said act normal, not act like a big-headed bully," she enlightened him.

"I'm touched, Anna, you don't think I'm normally a bully. Yeowch—bloody hell, woman, pull your punches a little would you! Your father's the frigging coach, you don't exactly hit like the girl you're supposed to be!"

The Library degenerated into screams as one Sirius Black frantically ran for cover, a petite girl hot on his heels.

**Author's Notes: **

_I lugged my computer to the café with free wifi this morning, with the result being that you get another update earlier than planned. I hope you enjoyed it…well, it wasn't a very happy chapter, so maybe "enjoy" isn't the best word, but I do hope you did anyway. _

_The word "minger" that Anna uses to describe how Sirius thinks of Severus is, I am told by the internets, a Brit-slang word for a "deeply unattractive person" (among other, less polite definitions). A "pillock," the word Anna uses to describe Severus' view of Sirius, means idiot. Again, pulled off the internets so if you're an authentic Brit or know more than me…sorry? I tried…_

_The title of this chapter, PostSecret, is an ongoing project where people mail anonymous postcards with their secrets written on them, anything from "I ate your last piece of chocolate cake," to devastating secrets that could/are destroying lives- depression, adultery, you name it. And please, if something serious is going on in your life, talk to someone- a friend, a family member, an anonymous hotline. _


	9. Theophilus

**Disclaimer: Do I need one of those?**

Four days later, Sirius Black went home.

Anna and Severus breathed a sigh of relief, watching as he disappeared, winked out courtesy of a blue feather—his Portkey direct to the Potters for the rest of his vacation. Somehow, Anna's father had worked a miracle in convincing Walburga Black to allow her wayward son to go straight to the Potter home. Sirius would be protected there to the best of anyone's ability, Anna reasoned to herself as she trudged back to her room to pack for her own departure. Both she and Snape would be practically the last to leave, since they had to wait for her father and Lucius Malfoy, respectively. She was leaving tonight, Snape tomorrow morning. _Thank Salazar that the summer is over and no one died, _Anna thought, hugging herself as a cold chill ran down her back. _Who are you kidding? _demanded the annoying part of her brain. _You're just selfishly glad _Sirius Black _didn't die this summer. Admit it: he's just as drool-worthy as Tanny Dover ever was, and he _understands _more than Tanny ever can. _

Unwilling to pursue that train of thought, Anna diverted her mind away from that track. _They didn't even make us kill any animals this year—we spent all that time on the Unforgivables. Is it bad that I am glad that I couldn't perform any of them at all? Severus managed to do the Cruciatus sometimes and the Imperius all the time. Father was disappointed—I could see it. He can perform both the Cruciatus and Imperius easily. He didn't say anything though. _

As Anna deftly began to take out her robes and fold them so that they wouldn't crease, she tried to shake that impending sense of doom that had hung over her all summer and had only thickened with each day that passed. _Nothing's wrong, _she told herself firmly. _Sirius Black is alive and unharmed and unturned, and that's all you wanted this summer isn't it? Snape proved himself to be a valuable ally in a time of need, not just as a secret holder but as someone to back you. I'll have to start approaching him more frequently to build the kind of friendship-alliance that I think he's trustworthy enough for. Father wasn't sent on an assignment all summer, so you didn't have to worry about him getting caught or killed. You're going _home _now, where there's only you and Father to please, no one else—just the two of us, the way we like it. School will start again soon and life will go on like normal. So _why _should I be feeling like something big and bad is going to happen? Just silly nerves, Anna, nothing to stress about. Pack your things and go down to dinner. You're finally going home!_

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Severus was desperate. He _had _to get word out to Black, and of course, he'd have to do it in the most inopportune place of all: _Chateau_ Malfoy, where no owls or message-birds of any sort were allowed. _Chateau_ Malfoy was a fortress, practically impenetrable, and it was completely sealed from all communication except those strictly monitored by Lord and Lady Malfoy, such as the two-way mirrors. He could hardly go ask the use of them to inform Black that their Blood Oath was coming in a lot faster than expected.

He wouldn't have known before-hand at all, but just after Anna Nott and her father had Portkeyed out, Rosier had begun bragging to the few younger ones still left that his father was on a personal mission that very night from the Dark Lord—to kill Karston Nott and bring his daughter back to _Chateau_ Malfoy, whole and untouched, for purposes unknown. _Ye gods and goddesses, the attack's happening tonight! _Severus thought in despair. _I can't do anything to save Karston Nott, _he realized. It was impractical, impossible, and would get him killed even if he managed to sneak out to the Nott residence to warn or otherwise assist them. He'd be discovered in a heartbeat and slaughtered—after torture, of course, for betraying Lucius Malfoy and the Purebloods who had 'taken him in'. Not to mention they'd eventually get Karston Nott anyway. If the Dark Lord ordered a killing, it happened. _But if the Dark Lord wants Anna brought back completely unharmed and still pure, it means that he either wants her for himself or he wants to use her for one of the arcane rituals that stress the importance of purity. From what I've heard from Lucius and the older ones, I'm willing to bet that it's the latter, and those rituals usually end in a gruesome death for the victim. Fuck. Damn it Black, why couldn't you have waited another day to leave? _

Now Severus had the space of at the most, hours, to get the message to Black and hope that Black would bring in the cavalry. If not, Severus would have to go on a suicide mission: both to satisfy his Blood Oath, and because he just couldn't leave the girl in the hands of the Pureblood fanatics. She'd be worse off than he, even if she wasn't killed. She'd be married off to whomever wanted her, and she'd become a trophy wife to some abusive Dark wizard who thought he had the right to rape her if she wasn't in the mood for compliant sex. _Like Rosier. _Severus' resolve hardened. He would find a way to get her out of this, Black or no Black.

True to Karston Nott's word—he was one of the few Purebloods Severus felt still held to the creed of personal honor—'distraction' had been arranged for the rest of Rosier's summer in the form of three visiting Purebloods from Germany, all three buxom and quite willing to share their bed with Rosier—whether or not the other girls were present and participating as well. So Severus was quite undisturbed as he walked outside rapidly. What he had in mind was almost guaranteed to result in death or insanity. It probably wouldn't even work. But it was the only thing Severus could think of to try.

He walked towards the groundskeeper's cottage.

_Death cottage, _the younger children called it, whispered it among themselves. _Blood sacrifice for the sake of a ward so deadly it'll kill anything that it touches…_

The darkest kind of magic: and right now, perhaps the only thing powerful enough to penetrate the wards around _Chateau_ Malfoy. He walked up the front steps, heart beating three times their usual rate.

"Sir! Master Groundskeeper! Open up, please! I need to speak with you urgently," he called, trying to maintain a steady voice. He conjured a hollow block of wood and knocked vigorously on it to mimic the sounds of the door knocking. "Please! It's important, I really need to see you—" The door flew open.

Gulping, Severus dropped his hand from the block of wood and firmly met the old man's half-insane eyes. He'd only met the man twice before, and both times he'd been scared out of his wits. This time was no different. "Please Sir, it's about the Blood Wards you set…"

The old man's eyes widened, and for a moment Severus could have sworn his eye-whites _glowed _manically in the dark interior of the house. "You're either brave or a fool, lad," he grunted finally, and suddenly there was a wand jammed in between Severus' eyes and he closed them tight and waited for the killing spell, waited for the eminent pain…even with his eyes tight shut, he _saw _a brilliant flash of hideous red, the flat red of half-dried blood—

And then he was blinking, eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the house after the daylight—wait. House? Glancing around in panic, Severus soon confirmed what he'd unconsciously known. He was _inside _Death cottage. And he didn't think he was dead—yet. Curious despite his fear, Severus examined the place closely, and found himself surprised. It looked like a normal house, a newspaper on the dining table, some sparse décor scattered in a haphazardly manner, and there was even something as mundane as a half-eaten sandwich on a dish next to the open newspaper. In fact, the only thing that would signal that someone mad and Dark lived here was the fact that all the curtains were drawn…

"So what brings you to risk your death just to ask about Elphard's Blood Wards, young Severus Snape?" Severus jerked; the thin man, about the same height as he and with a sparse scattering of white hair, had been well-hidden in the shadows. The man—Elphard?—tilted his head to his side, fingers stroking the dull wood of his wand.

Gathering up all his courage, Severus took breath and began. "I made a Blood Oath some days ago to protect…someone. Now, I find myself in the untenable position of not being able to protect this person without getting a message out of _Chateau_ Malfoy, perhaps even mounting a rescue coordinated from the outside to evacuate this person. But you know that Lord Malfoy has the _Chateau_ under complete lockdown during the summer months. The only thing I can think of that might override his wards are…"

"Blood sacrifice." Elphard nodded and gestured for Severus to go on. _He seems remarkably sane right now. Please Merlin and Morganna and all the saints in heaven, I swear I'll never take the Dark Mark, just let him listen and stay sane and let me leave alive! _

"I thought that, if you were willing to help me, the only place possible to send a message is in your house—maybe if I can steal one of the Portkeys, or something, to get the message across to where I need it to go, and maybe to get the person in trouble here and Portkey or Apparate out somehow—" Severus trailed off miserably into silence, intimidated by the suddenly demented gleam in Elphard's eye.

A pause too long to be comfortable was finally interrupted by the man as he drawled, "Your assumption is correct. This is, in fact, the only place where you would be able to do any of those things. It would be an easy matter to Fire-ward a message and toss it through the Floo with a direction spell, and it would be just as easy to use that Floo to bring people in or out."

_I was right! _Severus felt a burst of euphoria that quickly dwindled as Elphard continued, "I would be willing to do this for you—on _Pureblooding _terms, young Snape. Do you understand me?"

_Nimue's tits, he wants something in return. I don't _have _anything that I can give him that he can't get already. What would he want? _Severus panicked. "What…what sort of price would you ask if I required the services of your house with complete discretion for the sending of one message and whatever it takes to rescue one person?"

"Not much. Simply the listening ear of a good secret holder," Elphard replied innocently—_too _innocently.

"That's it? You'd do that for us simply for my keeping of your secret?" Severus asked suspiciously.

"That's it. I, of course, have other limits to my generosity in the rescue attempt, but you _will _get your girl out of here, I can guarantee it, as long as you get the girl to my house. I'll spell her like I did you so that the Blood Wards don't harm you."

"What are the limits?" Severus demanded. _Damned if I'm going to be swindled by you! _

Elphard smiled craftily. It lit his wrinkled face with an eerie sort of life and wit. Severus tried not to shudder. "Well, let's skip the niceties then, shall we? Here's the plan I'm willing to go with, and I'm sure you'll see that it's the best option for all of us. You send that message to young Black, tell him to come tonight at 2 am _sharp. _I'll spell the message to let him into my Floo, as long as he holds the note when Flooing he won't need to say anything, it'll direct him here. From there, you can make sure no one is around guarding Anna Nott, and I'll send Black up to you and together the both of you can bring her back down here and I'll send both her and Black through the Floo safe and sound back to the Potters. Does that sound right to you?"

"_How do you know who is involved?" _Severus jumped up, knocking over the chair he was sitting in, searching frantically for his wand, which wasn't anywhere to be found, it was usually just right there in his robe—

It sat sedately in Elphard's hard palm. "Give me back my wand. _Now." _

"Now boy, don't panic. You don't think I don't know what goes on in my own grounds? There was a smell of Blood magic around the gazebo and I'd seen Nott leave, and then you and Black separately. Not to mention I get all the latest gossip from Lord Malfoy or Lucius Malfoy the minute it comes in—they wouldn't dare offend _me _by not telling me a single thing that goes on. It was easy enough to put two and two together, boy. As for your wand, you'll get it back when you leave my house. Now sit back down, you're wasting precious time." The last was a barked command, and Severus' legs automatically folded, dumping him on the floor before he caught himself and scrambled to his feet, picking up the fallen chair and sitting in that.

"As I said, I don't want a horde of bloody Light warriors tramping through my house, poking their noses where they got no business being. But just Black is all right, even if he's a disappointment to his family and ancestry, and the Notts have always been a good line. Notts breed true. Little Anna Nott doesn't deserve either of the two fates the Dark Lord's got planned for her, that sort of Dark magic should only be cast on Mudbloods or Muggles, _not _on our own Purebloods." Gnarly hands gripped tight in anger for a moment, and Severus prayed that his wand wouldn't crack under the pressure exerted on it.

"You want me to mount a suicidal mission of rescue with only me and Black?" Severus questioned with a little disbelief.

"Aye. Besides, you'll keep your cover that way," Elphard observed, hands unclenching and relaxing (to Severus' great relief). "T'will be no more difficult than a raid or espionage, lad, and I could do both well enough at your age to fool my own mother!"

Severus tactfully refrained from pointing out that one, Severus didn't have a mother, and two, he'd never been on a raid or spy-work and wouldn't until he got to the high table as an adult and maybe took the Dark Mark—_which I swore both magically and to the Muggle saints that I wouldn't if I survived this encounter, _he thought ruefully. _There's one option of rising in the ranks out if this goes on the way it has. Still, if Nott had the time to contact his friend in Italy, I might not need the Dark Mark to rise in power anyway. Italy has an entirely merits-and-power based system, I hear, and a group as…involved as the mafia will surely always be in need of a discreet potions brewer. _

"Now, why don't you write out your note to Black and we'll send it on our way, and then you can go wait for little Miss Nott in_ Chateau _Malfoy. If Black and Nott get away safely, _then _I'll give my secret into your keeping."

Elphard pulled open a drawer from a desk near the wall, extracting a sheet of parchment, and waved his permission for Severus to (warily) approach and make use of the quills and ink pot on the desk.

_Black. Attack on the Notts tonight. Do nothing. Anna to be brought back for unknown purposes on orders of YKW. Hold this note and step into Floo at 2 am _sharp. _You're getting her out. Bring no one. –S _

Severus folded the note and Elphard snatched it from him, drilling the tip of his wand into the parchment. Several spells later, the note was tossed into the green-flared fire of the living room, and Severus hoped that their plan would really work. _Black, don't be stupid, _he thought—it was also his last thought before he struggled from a haze of screams and rusty red fog, ten meters away from the cottage everyone feared, his wand tucked neatly back into its usual place.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Mary Potter hummed as she tapped her quill rhythmically on the desk. Henry was out in the garden with James and the boys, playing pick-up Quidditch, since it was his day off from work. She, on the other hand, had a deadline to meet and set of Arithmancy equations to work through, not to mention she would have to take young Sirius to the side and see how he was doing—it was only his first day back from Summer Gathering, after all. Mary shivered. She was a mother first and foremost, and she could hardly imagine a person—a _mother—_who would force her children to go to such horrors. Sirius was still a child!

To be honest, Mary had known very little of the phenomena of Summer Gatherings for a long time—even now, most people didn't know of them. But Mary had found her soul mate in one Henry Potter, and her darling Henry was an extremely high-ranking Auror. Not that either of them needed to _work, _since the Potter fortune was vast, but…it seemed unethical, somehow, to simply coast when Mary knew very well that she and her husband had skills that could contribute to their community. But the things Henry told her sometimes, the strange and violent things…oh, the Aurors had never been able to prove it and once the Gatherings were moved to France it was out of their jurisdiction, since the French Ministry could not be bothered to make a raid or investigate the on-goings of Lord Malfoy's estate.

Sirius Black had returned safe and unharmed, grinning widely as he was pounced on by James and Remus. She rather thought that the mental and emotional injuries might be less noticeable, but she would do her best to draw the boy out. Perhaps they even had their break in Sirius; Peter, poor thing, had been so frightened that he'd withdrawn completely, hadn't even come over this summer. But Sirius was made of stronger stuff, and she thought he might be willing to testify to the illegalities of the Summer Gatherings, which would force the British Ministry to lean on the French, and cause enough of a scandal perhaps that the French would _have _to make a move.

Catching her mind wandering and zipping far ahead in the future, Mary laughed sheepishly, although there was no one to hear her in her little study office. "_You're always ten steps ahead of us, Mary," _her husband would tell her. Shaking her head at her own folly in thinking in the abstract future as well as the imagined voice of her love, Mary bent back over the latest set of equations she needed to turn in to her boss before the end of the week—and the whining high tone of the Floo alarm filled her house.

"_Henry! Floo alarm!" _Mary rushed to the next room, wand drawn. _This _particular tone was meant to alert the house-owners of something Dark entering their Floo, and after Sirius had returned this morning, Mary feared that someone might have changed their minds and come after the young boy. She found her husband several meters away from her in a heartbeat after she dashed into the room, the best position to corner anyone entering their house from the fireplace.

But no one appeared in the dancing flames, and just as Mary was about to suggest a false alarm, something small and white flew out, nearly taking out Henry's eye as he ducked. Crowded in the doorway, wands also out, the boys began to ask what it was.

"Mary, keep an eye on the Floo," Henry ordered, walking over to where the innocent white thing—a balled up piece of parchment?—lay where it had fallen. "Boys, stay back and keep your wands ready."

They waited in tense silence as Henry began running diagnostic spells on the wad of what Mary thought was a scrap of parchment. Finally, her husband relaxed slightly and reached down to pick it up. "There's Dark magic clinging onto this thing," he said in a puzzled manner, "But none of them are meant for harm. I think it's safe to open it." He tried to peel open the paper, only for it to stubbornly stay rolled up. Turning it around in his hands thoughtfully, Henry's eyes lighted on something indistinct on it.

"Sirius, your name is on this. I can only assume that only you can open it," he said, holding it out to where their son's best friend stood with wand still out warily, although both James and Remus had already dropped their wand hand. _Good reflexes and training on young Sirius, _Mary noted. _But then I suppose a summer in the midst of the enemy is rather good practice to keep your guard up at all times. I would rather James take longer to learn that lesson if it will keep him innocent for a while longer. _

"But I wasn't expecting…" Sirius slowly moved forward to take the wadded paper from Henry's hand, staring at it on his palm before taking a deep breath and unraveling it. It obligingly unfolded under his hands, and Mary thought she glimpsed an indecipherable scrawl of spidery black ink before Sirius angled the note away from her view so that he himself could scan the message.

"What is it?" James burst out finally, unable to take the suspense anymore as his friend's face got steadily paler and paler. "Who would try and contact you that way?"

Sirius looked up, his handsome face bleak. "My—my friend," he said hoarsely. "I have to help her."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

They ushered everyone into taking seats, and now Mary placed a comforting hand on Sirius' arm. "Why don't you explain this situation to us clearly so we can do our best to help your friend?"

A quelling glance at her son shut James up as he opened his mouth to begin questioning Sirius again. _Thank goodness young Remus is less likely to press Sirius for details than if it were the other way around. And I can control my own son. He's too much like his father sometimes, without the experience Henry has of when to shut up and when to browbeat the issue. It takes years to learn that, I'm afraid. _

Sirius gestured to the slip of paper. "I made friends with Anna Nott this summer, and I sort of promised her father that I'd do my best to look after her. She's in trouble now—Voldemort is going to kill her father, and take her back to the Malfoy estate for something, I don't know what. I didn't think it would happen this soon, but I have to get her out of _Chateau_ Malfoy."

Everyone suppressed gasps when Sirius mentioned Voldemort—now, Henry asked permission to read the message. Sirius handed it over without protest, and Mary read over her husband's arm. _Why, this is absolutely horrifying! That poor girl, I remember when Annette Nott died, and Karston nearly followed her in grief. I wonder who this "S" is, and how he got this information? Can he be trusted?_

Harry's mind must have been moving in the same direction, because he cleared his throat and asked Sirius, "Can we trust your source? Are you able to tell us who it is?"

Sirius hesitated—then sighed. "He's absolutely trustworthy, he's in the same bucket as I am. You see, he and I took a Blood Oath to Mister Nott to protect Anna."

"You took a Blood Oath? That's Dark magic, Sirius, not easy at all and dangerous to the vow-taker. Do you know what you've done?" Henry demanded sternly.

Sirius stuck out his chin stubbornly, a fierce glint exposing the warrior side of the boy that rarely showed. Mary wondered just what had occurred over the summer, and her mother's heart ached even as she acknowledged the new maturity in her son's friend—the first of his group of four that had just effectively grown up and stepped wholly into the world of adults, be it for good or evil. Even James had not done so yet, although that pretty young Lily Evans was doing a world of good for him.

"I do know. They explained it to me before I took it. I decided that the benefits outweighed the costs."

Henry and Mary exchanged quick glances. _That sounds like a suspiciously Pureblood mentality, favor for favor. I do hope young Sirius isn't permanently…damaged from this Summer Gathering, or I fear that one day he will find himself against James. I do _not _want to think about that possibility. It would hurt James terribly. _"Can you, perhaps, tell me who this other person is?"

It looked as if Sirius wasn't going to for a moment, as he rebelliously glared at them as if _they _were responsible for this mess. But then he looked down, and muttered something. "What, dear? I couldn't hear that."

"I _said, _it's Snape."

The living room erupted in chaos.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Sirius held the note in his hand, pacing back and forth agitatedly and glancing up at the clock every so often. It was 1:57 in the morning. James' parents were sitting calmly in the loveseat, murmuring to each other in voices too low for him to catch. James and Remus had insisted on staying up as well, and they were trying to distract themselves with a chess game in which neither were good at—it was hard to tell which side was worse off, at this point. In three minutes, Sirius would step into the Floo and be whisked off to…well, he wasn't exactly sure where he'd end up, but hopefully somewhere where Snape would be waiting to explain just how he expected to sneak Anna out of a fucking fortress. Come to think of it, how had he managed to get this note out without detection in the first place? _Damn it, Snape, you couldn't have been more encouraging in your note? _

Sirius had had a devil of a time since the message had arrived. First, he'd had to convince the Potters that it wouldn't do to send Aurors around to the Nott residence to catch the Death Eaters. _Bloody stupid idea, since then Voldemort would know there's a leak and it'd eventually get back to Snape and I. Not only that, Nott would still be targeted and eventually killed, a week or a month later. _Sirius wished he could still think like the naïve Gryffindor he'd been before the summer. He wished it—but he knew it was impossible. He'd seen too many unfair things, too many things that Aurors couldn't fix even if they knew about it. Summer Gatherings, for one. _There is no such thing as perfect justice in the world. It's a balancing game of whose lives are more valuable, which path is best for yourself and for the world—damn it, I sound like a Slytherin. No wonder James and Remus are eyeing me like they think I've been Polyjuiced. _

_Then _he'd had to convince them to let him go, alone, as the note said. _"It could be a trap," _Mary Potter had said. _"You'll need back up," _Henry Potter had muttered. _"It's _Snape," _James had reminded him incredulously. Couldn't they read? It said _bring no one. _And I bet hell has frozen over because Sirius Black is trusting the word of Snape over the logic of his friends and the opinion of the best Auror in Britain. I must be insane, _Sirius decided. _The poison from the whip addled my brains. That's the only explanation for it. _

James and Remus had been most dubious about Snape. He couldn't blame them, he'd certainly harbored his own doubts about their year-mate and still did. But on this issue, Snape would not lie. Not with the promise of Karston Nott hanging on their fulfillment of the Blood Oath. Sirius couldn't blame him. _I'd want to get out of Britain and the Pureblooded society if all they'd given me was pain and fear. It's so unfair—but then, it's life. _

Step. Step. Step. Step.One and a half minutes to go. _Will Anna still be alive when I get there? _Tick. Tick. Tick. _Snape bloody well better have some sort of plan. I'm not about to have escaped from Summer Gathering just to end up murdered the day after. _One minute. If he had been less tense, Sirius would have been yawning. It was much too late to be up still, unless one was at a loud party with fun people, or pulling a joke on someone. The chess pieces were rubbing their eyes and falling asleep while waiting for their orders, and the few times Remus or James scored a hit on each other, the pieces only half-heartedly swung axes and cudgels at each other, barely nicking the other. Sirius noticed Moony's knight surreptitiously jab at the castle nearby when the castle began to snore in a breathy pitch. Across the board, Prongs' king had given up all pretense and simply stretched out prone on the square he was in, mouth wide open in a lower-pitched baritone, and several pawns looked longingly at the pieces that had already been taken out of the game as they lay prone beside the board, sleeping without a care.

"Almost time, Sirius."

"Yes, sir."

"Come back safe, Padfoot."

"Yeah, give'em hell for us, Sirius. While you're at it, maybe you'll have the chance to turn Snivellus' hair pink?" James joked. Sirius was not amused, but he tried to smile wanly at his friends anyway.

"If I don't come back, you have Padfoot's express orders to make one Evan Rosier's life hell," he said. "That's someone who deserves all we can serve him."

"We won't take your word for it, you'll have to come back and say it again," Remus stated solemnly.

"I suppose I shall have to return to help out you two thick-headed folk," Sirius mock-sighed in exasperation.

"No help but for it," James agreed. "Take care, mate."

"I will."

_Fourteen seconds._

"Get ready, Sirius. We'll sound the alarm if you're not back in two hours," Harold Potter reminded him.

"Thank you, sir." Sirius positioned himself in front of the fire and took a pinch of Floo powder in his right hand. In his sweaty left palm, he clutched the message. _Six seconds. _

"Come back safely, Sirius," Mary Potter spoke up gently, just as Sirius threw the powder into the flames and they shifted emerald-green.

_Two seconds…_Sirius took one last glance of his friends and the couple who had welcomed him like he was a part of their family since he was a child.

_One. _Sirius stepped into the fire, and felt the familiar sensation of Floo travel, only different, darker, shadowy-like. _The difference between nighttime and unnatural darkness, like an eclipse, _Sirius thought—and the dread crept up his toes and fingers, crawling in lazy waves upwards through his veins, rushing up and up and up…and _push, _and he was lying stunned on the wood floor of a darkened room, a craggy face of an old man with half-crazed and crafty eyes directly above him, staring down at him.

**Author's Notes**

_My apologies for the long wait. I have just made a major across the world move, and I'm still trying to sort things out a bit. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! _

_The chapter title, Theophilus, is a character that was the predecessor of the more infamous Faustus. Theophilus, like Faustus, made a deal with a demon and bargained away his soul. However, unlike poor old Faustus, Theophilus was apparently redeemed by the Virgin Mary and set free of his contract. _


	10. The Stolen Child

**Disclaimer: _*Enters house with Snape trailing behind her. _"But he followed me home, Jo. Can I keep him?"**

_Blood, so much blood…_Severus swallowed, trying not to expel his dinner. He was not generally weak of stomach, but Anna lay immobile and frailly pale among blood-soaked rags and spit, face as grey as rain, and the clothes Healer Greengrass was frantically ripping off of her was still vividly painted with still-fresh lifeblood—Severus didn't know whether it was Anna's or her father's.

He'd slipped in as they brought in and tossed her on the bed, informing Madame Greengrass curtly that it mattered little whether she lived or died, since she'd gotten in the way of a very Dark curse and was now completely unfit for the ritual the Dark Lord had wished to use her for, not to mention she'd injured Owen Rosier. From the _sound _of it, the Dark Lord had not been very happy—he had actually come to _Chateau _Malfoy to await the arrival of the girl, only to find her hanging onto life by a thread. From down the corridor, he could hear the voice people had called "ringing" and "sincere" distorted with rage, screaming, "_Did I not say she was to be unharmed and untainted? If she has suffered from the effects of a Dark curse, she'll be completely useless to the ritual, it'll have tainted her innocence, and she will not have recovered from the stain of your magic by then—if she even lives. Rosier, I trusted you to accomplish a simple mission and you failed me, allowed yourself to be wounded by a mere girl even! If the girl lives, as recompense to her marred magical aura and the fact that you asked no permission to kill her, your son will marry her and give her an assured future. Do you understand me, Rosier? _Crucio!"

_Gods, Anna is better off dying if she isn't rescued, _Severus thought as the door swung shut and the sound of the Dark Lord's enraged torture of his servants became muted and merely indistinct screams. He scanned Anna Nott's limp body with worry as the Blood Oath pulsed and twinged at him, and caught sight of something glinting silver and red clutched tight in her left hand, just as her wand was still helpless in her right. _Is that a knife? _A memory—Nott winning the annual competition at the beginning of Summer Gathering, being gifted with a Destiny's silver athame. _No wonder she scored a hit on Rosier. Anything from Destiny's is potent in the hands of its wielder. It's a wonder Owen Rosier isn't dead, although he well might be after that ugly bout of Cruciatus the Dark Lord was giving him._

"You! Young Snape, don't just stand there. Help me!" Healer Greengrass noticed him in the shadowy corner and impatiently waved him over. He hesitantly came forward, and arranged himself on the bed, slowly and carefully moving Anna's limp body to cradle her in his arms. "There, now _hold _her still as you can, no matter what happens," she instructed, and proceeded to cast a spell, encasing Anna in an unearthly rust-red glow. Anna unexpectedly arched her back in Severus' grasp and shrieked, a spine-chilling sound that went on and on and on…she bucked and writhed with inhuman strength as Severus hung on grimly, biting back a yelp of agony as she sank teeth into his arm when he wouldn't release her. _Gods, what spell did she get in the way of, to go this mad? _

It seemed to go on forever, but finally, well after Severus was aching and bone-tired and peppered with bruises and bite marks, the weird glow faded and so did Anna's strength. She sank back down into his body bonelessly, unnaturally limp, and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Charlotte, find me some _Mortis Purgo_. Now!" Healer Greengrass snapped at her daughter, whom Severus had not noticed until now was hovering uncertainly in the background and staring at her friend in terror. But her mother's words seemed to bring her back to her senses—she dashed out again, presumably to find the potion. Mortis Purgo_, also known as Purification Potion—one of the hardest potions to brew because its ingredients are a combination of deadly poisons and toxins, and just one slip will cause the poisons to explode or actually kill the patient instead of neutralizing each other like they should to provide a healing potion for the Darkest curses…_wide-eyed, Severus glanced down at the dead weight in his arms again before looking back up at the healer, who was over at the sink and cupboards soaking more rags and pulling various vials and bottles off shelves. "Stay there, lad—" she called as she gathered up everything and came bustling back over to the bed.

"It's better she have some human contact that means her no ill, and she'll need you sorely in the times to come if she's to pull through safely," Healer Greengrass said soberly as she poured a potion from a green bottle that read _Detoxification Potion _on the white label onto the wet rags before thrusting the pile at her. "Here, take these and wipe her down with it, boy. I wish I had a skin-applied Detox Balm instead, this is meant to be ingested and it'll leave her skin raw for a couple days, but there's no other option. She'll just vomit it right back out if I try to get her to take it orally."

"All of her?" Severus burst out incredulously, turning red.

"This is no time to be prudish, boy. She managed to stab Rosier Sr. with her silver knife when he went after her father, but he hit her with a _Cruciatus _and then she jumped in the way, so they tell me, of the Satan's Curse Rosier aimed at her father and that spell I just used only burnt out the top layer of the disease that's in her now. She won't live out the hour if we can't bring the damned thing under control!"

Severus blanched. _Satan's Curse…the worst of the Dark Curses, feared more than the Unforgivables among those who know what it does…the only reason it's not an Unforgivable too is because people stopped _using _it centuries ago, decades before laws were even put into place to regulate spells. What made Rosier and his men decide to cast such a Dark spell? Ego, showing off, for fun—they are truly evil! _Severus steeled himself, picked up a potions-soaked cloth and began to gently swab Anna's face and neck with it. He'd work his way down. Glancing at the clock up in the corner of the room, he noted the time: 12:44. He had an hour and sixteen minutes to keep Anna alive and get her out of here somehow with Black's help. He just hoped Anna would live that long.

Healer Greengrass was mixing potions at the sink counter.

It was a hazardous task, an action of a desperate Mediwitch. It was a task similar to if Severus went to the kitchen and tried to make a viable potion with only the items stocked there: water, pumpkin juice, cabbage, cardamom and pepper…you could create a completely lethal new poison, or an acidic mix that would eat through anything including the bowl it was being mixed in and the table. More often, you'd come up with a useless mixture that did absolutely nothing but give you a stomach-ache. But Severus knew, with a growing certainty as he watched the brisk movements of the woman's hands as she examined each potion she'd set in front of her, recalled the ingredients in each one, and measured out various liquids to dump into a row of small vials, that without any attempt at it, Anna would surely die. Charlotte Greengrass still hadn't arrived back with the _Mortis Purgo_, and even if she did, it was no guarantee that it would work. Gulping nervously, he continued to swab Anna Nott's skin with the Detox potion.

When he was done, the bundle of potion-soaked cloths were tinged a filmy sort of grey-green, and Severus had lost his desire to even feel bad at the fact that he was methodically undressing and wiping down a nude girl. The truth was, any elements of impropriety or risqué thoughts on his part were firmly absent in such a place, with Anna on the verge of death and her body gleaming with faintly acidic sweat, skin grey in the well-lit room. He'd wiped off the blood while he was at it, and had verified his suspicions that none of the blood was hers—it was all Karston Nott's and Owen Rosier's blood. Dispassionately, Severus wondered if it had been his own spell _Sectumsempra, _one of the spells he'd given the Death Eaters via Lucius, which had done the older man in. If it had been, it would not have been a pleasant death unless applied directly to the carotid artery. Any other place, and Karston would have spent minutes or even hours dying, bleeding out from the cuts.

Across the room, Healer Greengrass had her eyes narrowed in intense concentration as she began to stir a strange-looking mixture of brown sludge in a sterilized bowl, held steady in midair by a spell over a magical, non-burning fire. A makeshift cauldron—Severus suspected it was because the bowl was pure and unsullied silver that had never held anything but clean water before that the healer had created the excuse of a cauldron and fire instead of sending for one from the basement laboratory. The Malfoys had a nice silver cauldron, but it would be useless here because it had brewed other potions before, and most likely had held Dark potions. Untainted silver cauldrons were the best for touchy and volatile potions, so no residue or magical leftovers, even the slightest hint of one, could set off something in the brew. Severus was grudgingly impressed, as he quietly pulled the covers back over Anna Nott's naked body, walking over to where Healer Greengrass was. The Levitation spell took concentration to hold the object suspended in the air, and the fire she'd conjured that could exist and heat her concoction to blood-heat temperature and more without burning anything nor melting the cauldron was nothing to sniff at. Careful not to distract her, Severus eased his way into her space, placing his own Levitation charm on the bowl. If she was grateful, she didn't say so, but she did release her own charm, letting Severus' take the weight of the bowl.

Abruptly, the door opened—heedful of his hold on the bowl, Severus turned to see Charlotte Greengrass panting, a tiny glass vial held clutched in one hand. "I Mirror-called St. Mungo's, Mum. They didn't have any in stock. I asked at Greenbriar, Viva Morte, Sisters of Hope, even Salem Care…" the girl finally realized that she was rambling and her mother still with her back to her, shoulders hunched as she half-listened, half-concentrated on her unorthodox brewing. "Anyway, I finally bribed the last of what Lugh Hospital had out of them. Here it is." Severus blinked when she thrust the vial at _him. _

"What—"

"Charlotte, say goodbye to your friend and do not come back in here tonight, please. Snape, I'm almost done with this—we'll administer it, and if it doesn't kill her, she might just have enough of a chance to get some of the _Mortis Purgo_ to work."

"But Mum—"

"I mean it, Charlotte. I know you're close to Anna, sweetie, but you have to do this for her. She needs to go to a place where she can be properly taken care of, and with people whose first priorities are her life and not her value as an object. Go on, Charlotte." Busily, hands never stopping, Healer Greengrass both reprimanded and soothed her daughter at the same time. Charlotte's eyes filled with tears, and she approached Anna. Severus turned away to give Charlotte the illusion of privacy at least, as the girl pressed one of Anna's palms between her own two hands and then whispered something in her ear. _They must have been better friends than I thought, although they never showed it more than simply spending slightly more time in each other's presence. But then if I had a real friendship here, I'd hide that too as much as I could, to keep from being exploited. _

He watched her exit, feeling troubled. Why hadn't her mother allowed her to stay? Why Severus? Charlotte was the Healer-in-training, not he. But Healer Greengrass was interrupting him, asking him to slowly lower the bowl. She carried it over to Anna's unresponsive form. "Now, Snape, I'm going to have to spoon-feed her all of this and the results are not going to be pleasant. It's a crude purge potion, meant to encourage her body to reject anything foreign. That means she'll be throwing up quite a lot, so take this and make sure you hold it where she can vomit. Hopefully some of the disease will come up with it." Healer Greengrass ladled out some brownish liquid, and looked at Severus expectantly. Severus nodded and positioned himself to her approval. Without further ado, the woman efficiently tilted Anna's head and poured the potion into her slack mouth.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Sirius found it damnably easy, now that _Chateau _Malfoy was mostly vacant, to creep down the ghostly corridors he'd dwelt in for the summer and sneak to the Blue Room. There was only ringing silence, and so far the only person he'd seen and easily avoided was Greengrass, who was sitting in one of the small sitting rooms alone, staring morosely at the flickering shadows on the wall and wringing a piece of her robe fiercely. _She's Anna's friend, I think. She must be worried for Anna. _Sirius' stomach twisted, but he ignored it. Right now his primary objective was to find Snape and Anna. The old groundskeeper, the creepiest man Sirius had ever had the unfortunate luck to meet, had told him to go to the Blue Room. The _infirmary. _Just what had happened to Anna? Sirius was beginning to regret obeying Severus' command not to do anything about the attack.

But now he was facing the closed door to the Blue Room, and he didn't know if the Mediwitch or anyone else was in there or not, or even if the old man had set a trap for him—he wouldn't put it past that crazy groundskeeper. But the fact remained that he had no other viable option. Sirius reached for the door handle.

_"What happened?" _He nearly screamed before remembering his supposed stealth and hissing angrily instead.

It was just Snape, Snape wearily sitting slumped over the prone, tucked in body of a girl he knew all too well. _Anna. _

"She wasn't supposed to be injured. She got in the way of a particularly Dark curse meant for her father. The Dark Lord was here earlier, chewing Rosier Sr. out for having sullied and injured the object he wanted to use for a ritual," Severus responded dully, pulling himself slightly upright. "We still don't know if she'll live, but she's stable enough to be moved right now. We need to get her back down and out. Healer Greengrass has distracted the Death Eaters and the others, but if the Dark Lord comes back…" he shivered—Sirius followed suit.

"Voldemort was _here?" _

"_Don't _say his name here, you dunderhead! It's dangerous, even with spells up!"

"Sorry." Sirius reached out and brushed away one brown curl from Anna's pale, closed face. Abruptly, he felt a suspicious lump growing in the back of his throat, accompanied by a burning fury that he focused on with relief. He _would not cry, _not over a girl and not in front of Snape! He squared his shoulders, looked up at his thin, angular companion. "What's the plan?"

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Make sure whatever healer you find is discreet, and tell them that she was hit by Satan's Curse, and that she's been purged twice: once by spell, once by a crude potions mix. She has about four drops of Purification Potion in her system now, since that's all we could find." Sirius nodded his understanding, gently shifting Anna's weight from Levitation to his arms as he tried to ignore the mad gleam in the eye of the man observing them, particularly when it came to Severus. _I wonder what Severus promised the demented fellow in order to secure his help? _Sirius hoped it wasn't too bad a price. Severus didn't even have a safe haven to go back to like Sirius did.

Taking a step back, Severus gestured formally for Sirius to go ahead.

"Thanks, Snape. You can trust me—you've done your part, now it's my turn to do mine. And you don't have to worry about the Aurors or someone barging in, or James or the others and the feud during school. It's silly anyway, and we're almost seventeen, and I owe you that much, yeah? I'll see you back in school. Give Rosier a kick in the ass for me," Sirius grinned despite his anxiety about Anna, and then turned and stepped into the green flames. "Godric's Hollow, Potter Residence." And he was gone.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Oi!"

"Dear Merlin…"

"What happened, Padfoot?"

"Let me through, boys—"

The Potter Residence was in upheaval. Sirius looked pleadingly at James' parents as he clutched Anna to his rapidly beating heart, feeling the unnatural heat of her feverish, sweaty skin burning through her clothes and his. "Mister Potter, please, you have to help her…"

"James, move aside please." Henry Potter gently pushed his wide-eyed son to the side, approaching Sirius. "Could you lay her down on the sofa please, young Sirius?"

He lowered the limp girl onto the cushions slowly, feeling an unexpected rush of loss as her body left the cradle of his arms. _Gods, Anna, what did they do to you? I swear, I'll hunt them down and kill them one by one for doing this, for causing you pain. Even if it takes me years. I'll join the Aurors. I'll join the fabled Order if they let me in. I'll manage it somehow. I promise. _

"Mary, would you call St. Mungo's—"

"No! Snape said, Snape said to be discreet. We can't let her go to St. Mungo's, the Death Eaters will find her and finish the job, or just take her back to France, and we'd never see her again!" Sirius panicked, grabbing onto Anna's hot hand.

Glancing at each other, some unspoken message passed between the married couple that James only vaguely knew meant Something Significant, and the other boys missed completely. "Madison?"

"Madison," Henry agreed. "Don't worry about your friend, Sirius," he added as Sirius' head moved back and forth between Anna Nott and Mary Potter, who had dashed out, presumably to Floo-call in the next room. "Madison is the best private Healer there is in all of Britain, and she places a heavy emphasis on privacy—most of her clientele are Purebloods who can't afford to let any information of their health issues leak for fear of a coup or being replaced in the hierarchy, or something worse."

Sirius simply nodded, and went back to chafing Anna's hand helplessly, staring at the motionless girl. _Come on Anna, you have to get better. I'll never forgive myself if you don't. _

"Is this the girl?" A new voice entered the scene, and Sirius looked up feverishly to see a tall, _Indian _woman—husky throated, dusky-skinned, and with serious dark eyes stepped in, walking briskly over to the sofa where Anna lay. "Boy—you were the one who rescued her?"

"I, uh—yeah?"

"Do you know what caused her condition, and what her vital stats are?"

"Um, Sn—I mean, I heard from someone pretty reliable that Anna was hit by something called Satan's Curse?"

If it was possible, Sirius felt more dread as the Healer's large eyes widened and she hissed through her teeth. "Damn these Pureblooded feuds," she muttered angrily, striding the last few steps to drop her black bag on the floor and kneel swiftly beside the unconscious girl. A wand slipped from her sleeve pocket was soon extracting a glowing series of symbols and numbers in the air before them, but they faded and were replaced before Sirius could begin to even interpret them. The new markings faded quickly too, and the Healer—Healer Madison?—shook her head in dismay.

"What? Will she—will she get better?" Sirius asked desperately.

Lovely eyes fringed with long lashes turned to him with no hint of anything but soberness. "Her life hangs in balance at the moment, boy. Satan's Curse is considered by most Purebloods the Darkest of curses, the ultimate unforgivable but not considered by law Unforgivable—only because it fell out of favor long ago. Satan's Curse is not just a spell-wound. It rends a hole in the person's magical make-up, like a rip in a net, and plants a disease—some call it the devil's disease—in the core of your magical being. Thus, like an insidious weed, it begins to infect your entire magical nature from the inside, and eventually it eats through the entire magical essence. Witches and wizards are intrinsically magical beings, and to have that part of their self taken away would be like cutting out a lung, or a heart, or liver. Without your magic, you would first become a Muggle and then die of shock within a few hours."

"Is there…_nothing _we can do to help Anna?" quavered Sirius, his voice cracking.

Healer Madison looked at him sympathetically. "I can try, boy. No more than that—only try. The Healer who began my work for me is very talented. The girl is stabilized, and will be for maybe another twelve, fifteen hours before the disease within her grows once more big enough to attack the girl again. You will have to give me a room for the girl, and I will need all of your help." She ran a piercing, evaluating eye over everyone crowded around the sofa.

"Mary, would you be as good as to prepare a place for this young patient? You, boy, can carry the girl—no levitation please, I don't want to aggravate the curse by performing magic on her—and Henry, I don't care how you do it, I need you to procure as much _Mortis Purgo_ as you can. You two, over there—take the Floo, go to Devi House and bring back the large snake in the bedroom that you'll find, as well as the black leather trunk with gold clasps in the largest cupboard of the foyer. Hurry, bring them straight to me."

The living room burst into a hive of activity. As Mary flew upstairs to ready a room, Healer Madison gently stooped and pried two objects out of Anna's deathly grip. Sirius hadn't even noticed they were there. A slim wand and a bloodied red silver knife with an innocuous stamp on the hilt that marked it as having been made and sold by Destiny's Weaponry and Tools. Healer Madison placed them with care in a small bag she retrieved from a pocket in her robes, and motioned to Sirius to pick Anna up and follow her. Sirius gently eased his arms back around Anna's pallid frame, lifting her with the utmost care and following the healer up to the makeshift hospital room. _Gods and goddesses, whoever or whatever is out there, make Anna better, let her get better…_

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Are ye ready for secret-keeping then, young Snape?"

Brushing the soot from his hands and turning to face Elphard, Severus noted with unease that the old man was practically dancing with glee, his malicious, small eyes sparking with madness and excitement. _He has something up his sleeve, I'm sure of it. But really, it's too late to do anything about it. _Resigned but cautious, Severus gave a curt nod. "Yes."

Beckoned closer, Severus swallowed and stepped forward as Elphard drifted towards him, reaching out almost lovingly to place his wrinkled-date hands lightly on Severus' bony shoulders. He leaned forward to nearly brush his lips against Severus' ear, and Severus tried not to shiver at the sensation as the man began to speak.

_"The Blood sacrifice wards are set by…" _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_He was being immolated, he was burning, screaming, writhing in a parody of a lover's passion, and the fire was an attractive blond-haired boy with the eyes of an angel and the smile of Satan was holding him down, holding him to the funeral pyre, and his blood was hissing and sizzling up in smoke to the gods, and beyond the jumping flames that swamped his vision and seared his flesh like the hand of the fallen angel that refused to let him go, his sister was imitating him, shrieking as a dark shadow with no face took her on the ground in a pool of red, red of her blood, red of her heart, red of the fire, and he was burning, burning, burning—_

Jolting up, Severus threw himself out of bed, flinging himself at the door in a panic, a strangled shout making it's way out of his throat. He had nearly opened the door of his room and fled when his ordinary senses filtered back into being and he felt the cool metal of the doorknob, saw the perfectly normal surroundings of a tidy and impersonal bedroom, rumpled and tangled sheets on the floor beside his bed and pillows at the foot instead of the head. And no fire or anything to fear of in sight.

Still, Severus grabbed his wand and cast several spells to make sure there was no curse set on him or his room, and then magically dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on himself. The ice water cut through his woolen dread and brought him back firmly to reality. _There is no fire. I am not burning. I don't have a sister, and I refuse to let Rosier appear in my dreams with that much power over me. I'm _not _burning, I'm _not _burning…_and indeed, as if to prove his point, Severus was beginning to shiver uncontrollably from the effects of the cold water.

With trembling hands, Severus remade his bed, dripping as he went, not bothering to dry himself. But when it was neat again and the bedclothes all picked up, he couldn't find the courage or willpower to get back in and try to go back to sleep. So instead, he sat at his desk and stared straight ahead, willing himself to forget the vivid nightmare-memory. _Damn you, Elphard. Damn you to hell and back, for doing this to me, for enjoying corrupting me further, which I did not think possible. The knowledge of the Blood wards eats away at me, and you knew it, knew that by passing the secret to me so that it would remain alive in human memory you yourself could forget and pass the burden on. I will never be free of it, never be free of the secret you have placed in my keeping. May you rot in Satan's own fire with your very own personal fallen angel to tend to you and make sure you suffer exquisitely for the knowledge of your damning secret. _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Anna hovered around death for over two weeks. The first five days had been a frenzy as the Potters petitioned, and successfully won, the right to guardianship of Anna and Healer Madison worked feverishly to save her life. Sirius learnt that Healer Madison was from India, Pureblood in the sense of the word (and, according to the woman, of the highest caste, a far more formidable label in her native land) who had emigrated to England sixteen years ago to defy her family and pursue a career in Healing (they had wanted her to go into law, a much more respected profession). Madison was her English name, since she'd found that her given name was undecipherable and unpronounceable and completely bewildering to normal British patients, let alone panicked people trying to summon a Healer.

_"It is much easier for people to remember Healer Madison than Healer Jayashri Vasundhara during an emergency," _she'd commented with a wry twist of her sensuous lips during one of the lulls between the intermittent bustle of activity as Sirius sat vigil over Anna and the Healer sat and absently stroked her familiar. The snake—Amrita, an enormous king cobra, would have put Sirius on edge at the way it casually lay across Healer Madison's lap and flickered its tongue, muscled body flexing whenever it moved sinuously at its owner's orders, if Sirius hadn't already been exhausted past endurance by then. But although he felt uneasy around the large, venomous snake, Sirius also felt profoundly grateful to it because it was on the sixth day that Amrita's concentrated venom finally rooted out the 'devil's disease' and destroyed it completely so it could not continue to gnaw away at Anna's magical essence. It took a combination of Amrita's venom, rare potions, balms, and an assortment of spells Sirius didn't recognize, some in Healer Madison's native tongue, but the sixth day they finally succeeded in eradicating the insidious disease.

Sirius had spent most of that time by Anna's bedside, and then continued hovering as Anna's life lay in the precarious balance between death and life. No one knew if she would succumb to the devastation the devil's disease had wrought, or if her magical self would be able to heal enough for her to recover in the physical plane as well. Even Healer Madison professed that she had no presumptions, since Anna's was a unique case. There had never been another victim of Satan's Curse that had not died a horrific death, or taken the less painful route by committing suicide or asking a loved one to do the job for them but one, undocumented legend of a man who had somehow survived the shock of losing the magic vital to his existence and somehow lived on as a full Muggle. That being said, there hadn't been a case of Satan's Curse being cast at all for over a century, and Healer Madison also had no explanation for why Anna remained in a coma as the days stretched on.

"Initially she would have been unconscious as the curse took hold," she said gravely to Henry and Mary Potter on the night of the fifteenth day since Anna had been rescued. "But she should have woken up once the disease took firm root. My only hypothesis is that the healer who treated Miss Nott gave her something to keep her asleep to preserve her energy levels so that the disease would have to work harder to deplete the magical resources and her body had more resistance to it. Whoever managed to force the girl into her first plateau of stability most likely saved her life, if she lives—it bought me enough time to devise a plan of attack and gave me some innovative insight into a different approach to this ancient curse. Now—well, now, I believe that Miss Nott's body is in the process of mending and healing itself and taking all her focus and energy to do so, leaving none for the girl to wake up. She will either heal enough to wake up or she will quietly slip away one night, and at this point there is nothing we can do except pray to Shiva and Kali for their aid."

So Sirius waited, desperately, running on little sleep and hope rapidly dwindling as each new day brought no significant changes, not even in the readings of Anna's vitals. _"But we can't be certain that the information that appears when I use the diagnostic spells is what is true," _Healer Madison reminded him on the sixteenth day. _"Her magical frame is most likely wildly out of whack and the things the spells test for may not be accurate of her health anymore."_

On the sixteenth day, Healer Madison returned back to her own home and left Anna to the by now expert care of the Potters and Sirius. School was approaching rapidly—it was, in fact, August 29th now, and the term started on September 2nd. Remus had gone home five days ago, but Sirius had vowed never to return to the house his parents owned. Instead, he'd leaned on Regulus until his brother reluctantly shoved Sirius' clothes and things into a haphazard mess inside a trunk with enlarged insides that the Potters had loaned him and sent it over to James' house, telling him with vitriol never to come back and further embarrass the Black legacy again. _No problem, Reg, I never want to see the inside of that disgusting house ever again. _

"It's no problem at all. We've always seen you as another son," Mary Potter had assured him when he had first approached them tentatively with the question heavy on his lips and heart.

"You are welcome to stay for as long as you need," Henry Potter had declared when Sirius continued to thank them both profusely.

"Awesome, mate," was James' comment, and Remus had only looked slightly wistful as he reluctantly Floo'd back to his own quiet home. Sirius found that he missed Remus much more than he expected when his peacemaking friend left. James was always fun to be around, and sure to be the first to back you up, a true friend to the core, but Remus was simply easier and more peaceful to be around now because he didn't _ask. _

As Sirius sat vigil at Anna's bedside, Remus had often sat vigil with Sirius, _not asking _question upon question about Anna, Snape, or his summer at _Chateau Malfoy_. It was curiously restful, not feeling put upon to answer people. Even Henry and Mary were often too much like their own son, insatiably inquisitive—all for his own good, of course, but Sirius just wanted some silence and shared companionship with someone who wouldn't judge or feel the urge to do something heroic. James' family was into playing the hero—Sirius had wanted to be like that, to be like James the shining boy. Now, he was grateful for the soft, peaceful Remus and the calmness that his friend evoked, and more than once he found himself more inclined to tell Moony things he hadn't mentioned to either James or his parents.

The conditions of his Blood Oath was one thing Sirius did _not _tell anyone, most especially not Moony. It would devastate his best friend if he thought that Sirius had been blackmailed and yanked around in the name of protecting Remus. _But oh, Moony, you don't understand—our friendship—the four of us—is too precious for me to betray or lose, and if I didn't do everything I could to protect my brothers, what kind of person would I be? This summer has only reinforced how lucky I am, to have you and James and Peter to support me no matter what. Some people don't have that…_Sirius' mind wandered to Severus, who must still be enduring the despicable Rosier, and Anna, who had never had a friend she could trust without some sort of oath or binding in place.

_I'll show you what true friendship is like, trust and all, if you'll just wake up, _Sirius promised Anna, gazing at her in her deceptively peaceful repose. _James is confused but willing to give you a chance, and he's the best friend you could have in fight or fun. Lily will love you just for being another girl in the group of guys. Remus already counts you as a friend because he sees how much you mean to me, even though he doesn't know you at all. Peter will probably be awkward around you for a while because you're new and Peter hates change, but he'll get over it and he'll try real hard to get over it for us. That's what friends are like, Anna. You have five of them waiting for you to wake up—well, six if you count Snape, although I don't know what he considers himself with respect to you. _

Sirius picked up the book he'd been reading to Anna last night. It was something he'd found lying around the Potter bookshelves, and Healer Madison had mentioned that there was a Muggle concept that people in comas could still hear you. "I hope you weren't too bored today, Anna," he began, leafing through the pages until he came to where he had stopped. "James got irritated with me for being 'mopey over an unconscious body,' his words exactly, and dragged me to Diagon Alley to get books and supplies for the school year. I got you your stuff as well, you'll be needing it when you get better." Sirius stubbornly ignored the sneering voice that unfortunately, sounded like Snape, whispering, _what if she just never wakes up? _

"Here we are, this is where I left off last night I believe." Sirius took out the bookmark, and cleared his throat.

"Where dips the rocky highland

Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,

There lies a leafy island

Where flapping herons wake

The drowsy water rats;

There we've hid our faery vats,

Full of berrys

And of reddest stolen cherries.

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand,

For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses

The dim gray sands with light,

Far off by furthest Rosses

We foot it all the night,

Weaving olden dances

Mingling hands and mingling glances

Till the moon has taken flight;

To and fro we leap

And chase the frothy bubbles,

While the world is full of troubles—"

Sirius broke off abruptly as a tiny voice, hoarse with disuse, took over.

"While the world is full of troubles

And anxious in its sleep,

Come away, O human child!

To the waters and the wild

With a faery, hand in hand—"

And Sirius, heart a great lump in his throat and eyes stinging with shock and relief and joy, finished the verse with Anna together as she smiled weakly at his from the bed, pale as the sheets but with a sparkle of _life _in her eyes.

"For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."

"Yeats," Anna murmured, closing her eyes and taking a carefully measured breath.

"Anna…" at a loss for words, Sirius could only drop the book with its unfinished poem and grasp for the girl's hand again.

"How long, Sirius? How long have I been asleep?"

"Eighteen days here, and a night at the Malfoys before I came for you," Sirius replied softly.

Anna tried to get up. "School…"

Sirius quickly moved to gently press her back down. "Lie back down, Anna, you'll strain yourself that way! School starts in about four days, and you most certainly aren't going to start on time! You need time to recover and get some strength back…"

Huffing a tiny puff of air, Anna lay back down. "I'm sick of bed," she grumbled, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke.

"So you could…you were aware of what was going on around you?" Sirius asked curiously.

"No…well, not exactly." Anna furrowed her brow. She drew in another breath as she continued with some effort, "It was more like I was asleep and I knew that I was asleep and that something was wrong, but I couldn't wake up to find out what was wrong. And then just now, it was like I was dreaming my father reading me poetry—he used to read me a couple poems just before bed when I was younger, out of my mother's favorite poetry books—and then it was you reading, and I was awake." Anna tried smiling, but it was tremulous and broke an instant later as tears began to pour down her face and her countenance crumpled into utter despair. "Oh Sirius, my father…he…they…he…" she couldn't continue, struggling to heave in breaths as the sobs jerked their way out of her chest.

Awkwardly, Sirius knelt, and then wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders. It must have been the right thing to do, because Anna abruptly buried her face into his arm and clung on to him as if he were a life support, body shuddering as she grieved for her lost father.

As he patted her back and occasionally stroked her hair, lank from days of bed-rest and countless _Scourgify _spells which never did the job like the real thing, Sirius found himself reveling in the feel of Anna's soft form pressed trustingly against him, a warm body that seemed to fit perfectly within the circle of his arms…_Damn it, Sirius, the girl watched her father die and just recovered from a generally fatal Dark curse! Stop being a stupid hormonal, emotional wanker and focus on being the friend you promised her you'd be if she woke up! _

The petite girl had stopped shaking, and Sirius tentatively loosened his hold, sitting on the edge of the bed and observing Anna with concern. She was swollen-eyed, her nose was running, and her cheeks blotchy. "Here—" he snagged the box of tissues off the bedside table and offered it to her. She took several, blowing her nose and cleaning her face of the tearstains, and Sirius wet a wad of the tissues with some cool water, leaning forward to swipe carefully at her eyes and cheeks. "There," he declared with satisfaction, moving back a little.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice barely above the hum of a light breeze. Sirius looked closely at her, and realized that Anna was exhausted, eyes drooping and body slumping into her pillows. Quickly, he rearranged her and her bedding so that she could lie comfortably.

"Go to sleep, Anna. I'll be here when you wake up," he murmured, watching as her eyes fluttered shut.

When he was absolutely certain that Anna was in a natural, restful sleep, Sirius snuck out and then tore down to the living room, where James and Mary and Henry Potter were playing Exploding Snap. "_She woke up!" _

**Author's Notes**

_I am SO sorry. Has it really been this long since I updated? In the last three weeks, I've moved back home (which involves a day's traveling, jet lag, and a new continent), found a temporary job that feels like a lot more work than a temp job, and tried to come to terms with life post-college. I'm finally starting to acclimate, thank goodness!_

_The chapter title, "The Stolen Child," is the title of the Yeats poem that Sirius was reading to Anna when she woke up. He reads the first two stanzas—there are two more stanzas. _


	11. Shell Shock

**Disclaimer: Yeah, that.**

There had been a big outcry when Anna turned up missing. The Dark Lord blamed Rosier Sr., who turned around and blamed Healer Greengrass, who snapped right back that she'd done nothing but attempt to save the child's life and then left her to live or die as the gods willed, with the mandated privacy for a respect for death. In the ensuing chaos, Severus found it easy enough to simply fade into the background as he usually did, and no one was the wiser to his part in Anna's disappearance.

The Dark Lord _had _taken the time to have a private chat with Lucius Malfoy's orphaned ward though. Recalling the event, Severus pondered how different the actuality had been from how he had envisioned it, years ago.

_"So, this is young Severus Snape."_

_ "It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Sir," Severus said respectfully, giving a polite bow where he stood to the reputed Dark Lord, alternately bane and blessing of the Wizarding community depending on who you asked. _

_ "Lucius tells me you are a potions enthusiast?"_

_ "I am well-versed in potions making, my lord," Severus acknowledged, unconsciously stiffening a little at the small flippant slight to his affinity and skill for potions. "I supply Lucius with all the potions he requires of me, and I have brewed several high level Dark potions already."_

_ The Dark Lord raised a dark eyebrow, clear eyes slightly amused and considering at the same time. _Probably because he _knows _that Lucius was the one who brought in the perfectly brewed batch of Veritaserum, and the Petrifying potion that he used to turn his victims into stone the last general attack they did, and now he's realizing that I was the one who brewed them, not Lucius or some anonymous brewer paid to be quiet. _Severus refrained from smirking. _

_ "Impressive for one of such a youthful age," noted the Dark Lord. He leaned back thoughtfully in his armchair. Severus remained bolt upright on his, unwilling to let his guard down around such a dangerous man. He said nothing, only inclined his head gracefully._

_ "No one has been very forthcoming about you, my boy," the dark-haired man continued. "I have, of course, ascertained more than they were willing to tell me through—other—means, but still I find myself curiously lacking in information about you."_

_ "I do not enjoy frivolous socializing," Severus said._

_ "Undoubtedly. But it leaves me at a disadvantage for you to have heard about me, but for me to know less about you. Perhaps you might enlighten me as to yourself, young Severus?"_

_ "As my lord wishes. What would you like to know?" Severus fought to keep his blank façade, hyperaware to the fact that the greatest Legilimens apart from Albus Dumbledore was sitting across from him and could very easily tear his mind apart if he wished. _

_ "Why don't you tell me a little of your background and relationship to the Malfoy family, and perhaps your ambitions for the future?"_

_ And so Severus delivered a dry, unemotional, and very brief accounting of his less than pleasant circumstances before the Malfoys, his mother's death, Lucius' stepping in, and the recent death of his father at the start of the summer. He did not tell the Dark Lord that it had been he who had killed his own flesh and blood, but he deliberately left it ambiguous and the Dark Lord's eyes had glittered with unrepressed excitement and appreciation as he had narrated the news of his father's death. _

_ "And what of your future, Severus Snape? What do you see yourself doing, if you could have what you desired most of the world?" the man enquired intently, staring at Severus with a hypnotizing gaze. _

_ "I would endeavor to be taken apprentice by a good Potions Master—most likely out of Britain, since the best Potions Masters of this age have all been elsewhere—Russia, Italy, Argentina, Japan, Hong Kong." _

And here we come to the crux of the purpose for this discussion, _Severus thought with difficulty as he tried to resist the spellbinding effect of the Dark Lord's fathomless expression with its hint of genuine _interest _in _him, Severus Snape, _and no one else. It was heady, flattering stuff, to be the sole focus of such a powerful, influential man. Severus found himself hard-put to keep his mind clear and unaffected by the Dark Lord's drawing aura. _

_ "And if, young Severus, I paved the way for you to do this? Would you then pledge your allegiance to me? You are an intelligent and dedicated professional who will do very well in your chosen field and in anything else you wish to succeed in, I can see it. Your genius would be a great asset to me, just as I could be of great assistance to you, not only to convince Lucius to locate, convince, and allow you to apprentice under the best of the best wherever that person is, but also later in life. Mine is a rising power, as you can see, and I'm sure you would understand very well the benefits of being on the side of power, being _favored _of those in power, _becoming _one in power…"_

_ It might have been the way it had been phrased, a perfect offer and opportunity to a Slytherin. The motives laid out—a pure and simple give-receive price-binding, the Dark Lord's favor and influence and gifting of power in the hierarchy in exchange for his allegiance, his skills, his obedience. Three months ago, Severus would have _leaped _at the offer. Control, power—it was what he had always desired, to be in a position where he could not be ordered around or subservient to Lucius or Rosier or any of the other snobby Purebloods. It seemed too good to be true—and Severus blamed Black for the words that came out of his mouth then._

_ "My lord, you do me too much honor. I pray you forgive my impertinence, but I ask you to stay your desire for my answer. It is a decision I would not take lightly, and furthermore—well, one never can plan too far into the future without it changing on them, often unexpectedly. I am young, as you have pointed out, and before I pledge any life-binding vows, I would enjoy a space of freedom in which to enjoy life without any prior oaths, commitments, and promises. Perhaps you can understand my view?"_

_ The spell broken, the Dark Lord now looked just like Evan Rosier when he was denied a particularly desirable thing, like the newest broom model. "Are you certain, Severus, that you do not wish to take my offer at this time?"_

_ "It would not do you the justice you deserve if I were to take pledges of allegiance now, without having truly understood myself and the world I live in," Severus pointed out reasonably. _

_ Disgruntled, the Dark Lord rose and Severus blinked. The man was much shorter than he'd expected, somehow…_

_ "If you change your mind, Severus, the offer still stands and I hope you take the opportunity I have given you," the Dark Lord declared, moving towards the door of the parlor. _

_ "I am truly appreciative, great lord," Severus said in a placating manner, following the man out and taking care to infuse full subservience into his body and being. "I can only thank you and apologize once more."_

_ "No need, boys will be boys," the Dark Lord dismissed, Severus already fading back into an unimportant speck of the background. "Go find Abraxas—I will be taking my leave shortly." And with that, Severus' audience with the infamous Dark Lord was over and the offer he'd been dreaming of for months turned down._

It had to be Black's influence—there was no other reason for Severus having turned down such a wonderful overture. Severus couldn't put his finger on what exactly had changed this summer, but he definitely knew the cause of the difference in his views of the world—_Black. _The imbecilic nuisance had shattered his all preconceived notions of an acceptable value system and the Slytherin mentality of price-binding, right and wrong, morality, honor…Severus sneered at himself, alone in his room. _I now declare you an official bleeding heart, Severus. _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Sirius had been worried, but he needn't have been. It was three weeks into fall term, and Anna had finally recovered enough to come back to school. She would be staying in her own room, rather than going back to the Slytherin dormitories—Headmaster Dumbledore had taken some convincing, but Sirius had finally pointed out that it would no doubt be traumatic for Anna to sleep next to the children of some of the men and women who had killed her father and nearly killed her. So she would be staying in a private room right next to the hospital wing, on the insistence of Madame Pomfrey and Healer Madison, who had given Madame Pomfrey a debriefing on what Anna had gone through.

Anna was sitting calmly at the Slytherin table, serenely ignoring every single other person on the table, sandwiched in between Snape and Greengrass. She held a book propped up on the table, and she read as she ate, while her classmates alternately threw her awkward looks, spat vitriolic insults at her, and looked completely bewildered (those who had not been at Summer Gathering). When Sirius came in and saw her, he gave a shout and she looked up, smiling at him, much healthier than she had looked the day he had left for Hogwarts. "Anna!"

"Hello, Sirius," she greeted him as he crossed over to her, leaving James, Peter, and Remus behind at the Gryffindor table. "How have you been enjoying school?"

Sirius groaned dramatically, aware of the stares of the entire Great Hall. "I have a two-foot essay due in Transfigurations tomorrow and I haven't started it."

"Well, you should begin then, shouldn't you?"

"I suppose…how have you been? Are you feeling better?"

"I have recovered quite well, thank you," she replied. "I am thoroughly sick of resting and ready for some work!"

Laughing, Sirius craned his neck to look at the title of the book she was reading: _The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. _Catching his glance, Anna quirked one side of her mouth up in a crooked smirk. "Interesting poems, Yeats wrote," she commented. "I particularly like the poem 'The Stolen Child'."

"Yes, it is good, isn't it? 'For the world's more full of weeping…'"

"'Than you can understand," she finished, and raised an eyebrow. "We're holding up dinner, I believe."

"Oh—" true enough, everyone was now seated and staring at Sirius and Anna. "Sorry. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Certainly, Sirius. After dinner?"

"Sure thing." He strode back to the Gryffindor table, feeling as though he were floating on air. _Anna's better and life is good. _

After dinner, he excused himself from his friends' company—they teased him about ditching them for a girl, but it was good-natured ribbing and Sirius escaped fairly lightly, considering. Making his way over to the Slytherin table, he grinned down at Anna. "You ready?"

"Yeah, let's go talk in my room—Madame Pomfrey says I can have boys in my room if the door is left at least three inches cracked open," she informed him, rising. She turned to Greengrass, beside her. "Charlotte, I'll talk to you tomorrow okay? I'll tell you what I can then."

Nodding politely at Charlotte, Sirius fell in step with Anna as she headed towards the entrance. They hadn't gotten very far when a derisive voice called out, "Hey, Nott! You left your book." Turning around, Sirius caught sight of the familiar speaker. _Snape. _The boy looked exactly the same as he always had, contemptuous, indifferent, almost languid in his movements as he waved lazily at the abandoned book by Anna's empty plate.

"Oh—thank you, Snape," Anna responded in a stiff, polite manner. She walked back over and retrieved her book of poetry and returned to Sirius' side. "Come on, let's go." She set off at a faster trot, and Sirius matched her pace.

"Hey, slow down a little will you? You don't want to overexert yourself."

"Slowpoke."

"Thestral."

"Thestral?"

"They're supposedly really fast."

"Only you would know some random fact like that, Sirius." Anna shook her head, the lamplight catching her dark brown curls and playing with the hearty hue.

When they had installed themselves in Anna's room, a tiny but rather cozy room decorated in warm tones of brown and beige, the door three inches ajar and Eavesdropper's Bane set up, Sirius looked at Anna expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"How is the return to school? Facing…well you know."

She looked soberly at him. "It was hard, at first. Especially seeing Rosier. He looks just like his father, and I _know _that he would have done the same thing as that despicable monster." A hint of steel rang through her words. "But…I told myself they couldn't hurt me anymore, and that the best way to get back at them was to act as if they were insignificant little ants to crush beneath my foot or ignore as I chose. Nothing irritates people like Rosier more than being treated as inconsequential." Anna beamed. "It got to be quite fun, irritating them when I didn't respond throughout dinner, although I did talk to Charlotte. She's a good person, just in the wrong circumstances."

Sirius shrugged. He didn't really care for Greengrass one way or another—if Anna continued to consider her a friend, he would accept that. The girl hadn't been anything but cordial towards him during Summer Gathering, after all.

"She was a great help, just her small chatter to catch me up on what I missed out on these few weeks. Severus was great too."

"Snape? What did he do?"

"Well he obviously can't blow his cover, but I _do _remember bits and pieces of…what happened, you know, and he features a big part of it. And as a good thing, not doing something bad. And when I sat down and Rosier went to sit down next to me, he intercepted him and sat next to me instead."

"He certainly didn't seem very friendly."

"Slytherins, Purebloods, acting, bigger things at stake…do you remember any of what I pounded into your head this summer, Sirius Black?" Anna demanded.

In his heart, Sirius rejoiced to see Anna so much _herself, _riled up and with a glint in her eye. "Yes'm. I remember. Treat Snape the same, animosity and all."

"Oh, of all the things you'd remember…" Anna shook her head in exasperation.

Sirius laughed.

Later on that night, just before curfew, Anna sprawled out on her bed and Sirius occupied the chair, she explained in greater detail what the debilitating curse had left her with.

"I'm the first person that anyone knows of who survived Satan's Curse without being insane, a Squib, somehow paralyzed, or all three," she said flatly, playing idly with the corner of the soft, standard issue quilt on her bed. "Healer Madison and Madame Pomfrey are going to monitor me for the next couple years at least, if not the rest of my life, just to make sure there are no lingering ill effects and also for the sake of a Healer's knowledge. But the curse did leave some…scars, I guess."

"What kind?" Sirius asked, hoping that he wouldn't be infringing on rudeness to ask.

Anna didn't take offense, but instead calmly answered. "Well, my magic itself is far weaker than it was—rather more comparable to the ability of a pre-Hogwarts magical child, to be honest. I've got all the knowledge and theory of the more complex spells and such, I just can't actually perform them. It'll take me months to build up my magical strength again, rather like a Quidditch player training for the big game, you know?"

Sirius nodded, face shadowed. "I'll help," he offered.

She smiled at him. "I know. Thank you."

They sat in a beat of silence, and then she continued. "Along with my magical…loss, any children I have in the future has a 90% chance of being a Squib."

"How do you feel about that?"

Anna looked thoughtful. "I was devastated at first, to be honest—it's not the greatest news to tell any witch, really, that any child she conceives is highly likely to be born a Squib. But…I've had a little time to come to terms with it, and I think—I think I would end up loving the child just as much whether or not he or she can Levitate a feather. It just wouldn't _matter. _And the Muggle families, they seem just as capable as we are of loving relationships and the real important things in life."

Sirius tipped the chair back on two legs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "That's very deep insight, Anna."

"Well—wouldn't you love any child you had regardless of whether it had magic or not?" Anna wanted to know.

"My parents certainly wouldn't," he said bitterly, turning his face away from the girl to stare sightlessly at the whitewashed walls and the pleasant, bland painting of a field of lavender.

"Oh, stop being a self-centered ass," the brunette girl scolded, her harsh tone having the effect of cold water dumped on his head. "You saw people at Summer Gathering who are in much worse circumstances than you, and yet you're complaining that your parents are cold fish? Sure they wouldn't win any prizes for parent of the year, but at least they never gave anyone permission for your murder—and you may not know this, but after it became obvious that you weren't going to come over to the Pureblood's way of thinking, Lord Malfoy contacted them with the two-way mirror asked if they wished to have to eliminated quietly. Your mother refused, and said that if you did anything drastic, she'd disown you formally, but you were still flesh and blood and she wouldn't hear of your being killed."

"They…she…my mother really did that?" Sirius was flabbergasted.

"She did." Anna's tone left no room for argument—and indeed, with that stubborn and almost fanatical glint in her eye, a look Sirius had _never _seen Anna portray, he was not inclined to question her judgment. Not out loud, at least.

"I…"

"You should talk to her. Some time—maybe Christmas," Anna told him forcefully, eyes boring into his.

"I never want to see her again," Sirius spat.

Instantly, Anna was up and shoving Sirius. Her rough hands a surprise and a shock, the chair Sirius was sitting on toppled backwards and he crashed to the ground, the breath driven out of him as he thumped painfully to the floor. "How dare you say that! How dare you treat your _mother _that way! You ungrateful git, she gave birth to you and cared for you and watched you grow up! She's your _mother. _You're such a self-centered little bastard, Black, never thinking of anyone but yourself. _I _never would have betrayed my family or my father like you did. You're a worthless good-for-nothing Blood-traitor, and I wish with all my heart that I'd never met you!"

Scrambling up, bewildered, angered, and almost scared by the manic intensity glowing in her normally expressive, calm eyes, Sirius opened his mouth—whether to yell back or to ask her what was wrong, he didn't know. She beat him to it.

"Get out. Get out! I don't want you in my room. I don't want you in my life. You should have just let me _die, _Black. Then I wouldn't be a traitor to my family and to my blood like _you. _I never want to see you again, not in a million years, do you understand? Get out!" Her voice raised hysterically until by the end, she was screaming, and Sirius watched with alarm as Anna's face turned frighteningly furious. _She looks like crazy Bella during one of her 'moods', _he realized uneasily, backing away from the distraught girl, slowly easing himself out of the door.

"Okay, okay, I'm leaving. See?" Sirius edged slowly away, the way one might try to back away from a dangerous creature that was deciding whether it wanted to take the effort to attack the measly human that had disturbed it or not. The minute he was outside, the door slammed violently shut in his face, actually hitting his nose and forehead in the process. Dazed, Sirius rubbed the offended parts and took another step back absentmindedly, stunned gaze still fixed on the firmly closed door and the hidden girl within it. _What just happened? _He wondered.

"Mister Black? Is everything all right?" Madame Pomfrey was at his elbow, and he jumped, unaware that anyone had been standing nearby. The school Mediwitch eyed him with a professional sort of curiosity, the kind that said, "I'm curious but I won't ask if you don't want to tell, and if you do it remains confidential."

"Oh…uh, yes, I guess." Sirius glared at the unmoving door. "She threw me out—just flew into a fit and threw me out," he informed her glumly.

"Of all the stupid, imbecilic, _damn—_no, not you, dear," Madame Pomfrey hastened to assure Sirius as the boy whipped his head around incredulously at both being addressed, and being addressed by Madame Pomfrey in foul, disparaging language…

"I'm sorry. Please excuse me." The matronly woman, dressed in simple robes with a Hogwarts crest and sage green Healer's stripe, abruptly hurried back down the corridor, entering the door to the Hospital wing. Taken aback by her sudden departure, Sirius didn't have time to feel affronted before the woman was back, a small vial cradled in one hand and her polished, honey-colored wood wand in the other. She knocked gently on Anna's door. "Anna dear—it's Madame Pomfrey. May I come in?"

A muffled response later, Madame Pomfrey had—with surprising dexterity, squeezed herself through the crack that had appeared in the doorway to let her in, and the door clicked shut again behind her. _Is this another lingering effect on Anna from that stupid curse? Maybe I shouldn't have provoked her. But I never said anything I hadn't said before. Why should she take offense to it now, when she practically encouraged me to be myself before? _Hurt and confused, Sirius turned and began to trudge back to the Gryffindor dormitory. He hadn't gotten far, however, before Madame Pomfrey's call stopped him short. "Mister Black? Please come to my office, I'd like to talk to you."

"It's curfew," Sirius pointed out sullenly.

"I'll write you a note," the efficient Mediwitch responded smartly. "Please, come in."

Left with no choice, Sirius reluctantly plodded back to the witch, and she bustled him into the section of the Hospital wing that was her office. "What did you want?" he asked, trying hard to temper his irritation.

Madame Pomfrey ignored his rather surly attitude. "I wanted to discuss Anna's condition to you. I have been informed that you were the person who rescued her, and you were her primary care-taker up until the Hogwarts term began?"

"Yes," Sirius acknowledged, his interest at learning more of what was happening to Anna overcoming his resentful mood.

"Has she told you anything of her current condition?"

"Her magic's weakened, and she has a large chance of having Squibs if she wants children," Sirius answered.

Madame Pomfrey nodded briskly, waving him to take a seat across from her cluttered desk. "Those seems to be the effects of the stopped Satan's Curse, unfortunately," she responded, sitting down herself. "But there is more. Healer Madison has also diagnosed her with something called post-traumatic stress disorder. It's actually originally a Muggle diagnosis, but a Muggle-born witch introduced the concept to the community perhaps three decades ago, and there have been several diagnoses of it since then. It is an emotional disturbance in which people who have been through a psychologically traumatic experience often show symptoms of nightmares and flashbacks, withdrawals from human contact, irritability, hyper-vigilance, and avoidance of anything that may trigger a flashback."

_Post-traumatic stress disorder—there's an actual name for being screwed up after seeing your father die in front of you? _Sirius thought incredulously. "So…"

"If it hasn't hit you yet, Mister Black, anything that might have occurred between you and Miss Nott tonight—any arguments or misunderstandings—is likely to have come from the fact that she has exercised her quota of calmness and reasonability for the day during dinner, and her tiredness and inability to sleep these past few days have combined to force you into the role of a trigger of the flooding of emotions she does not wish to feel," Pomfrey stated.

"Huh?"

"That means, she may try to avoid you or become distant from you or have unreasonable reactions to you," she translated.

"Oh. And it's not my fault?"

"No, most likely it will not have been caused in any way by you except in her mind in associating you with her father's death." Pomfrey looked askance at Sirius, her eyes obliquely implying _something—_Sirius was just too aggravated still to bother interpreting _what. _

Instead, he leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. "Then…what should I do for Anna?"

"Good question, Mister Black, and one I will say I am very glad to hear you ask. Here's what Healer Madison and I consider the best approach to Anna's anxiety disorder…"

**Author's Notes:**

_Yay new chapter! :) Reviews are always appreciated, and I wanted to thank every single person who has reviewed. You have no idea how much, even a one-word note, has really put a smile on my face and more importantly, in my heart. And for reading, all of you—I'm honored you're spending any amount of time to read this story! I know it's a bit off the beaten path in terms of plot and the mix of characters. _

_This chapter's title, "Shell Shock," comes from one of several terms used to describe post-traumatic stress disorder historically, before it became formalized and defined as post-traumatic stress disorder. _


	12. Pax

**Disclaimer: All that jazz.**

It had been just the slightest bit awkward, the faintest flavor of it, among the four of them since they had returned to Hogwarts.

Well, perhaps more truthfully the uncomfortable note was mostly between Sirius and James, and had begun when Sirius had received a note in the Floo and brought back an unconscious and dying girl. Up until now, they'd done everything together, practically blood brothers. But this summer had changed Sirius drastically, and he could see in his friend's eyes a flicker of confusion, of distance, every time he looked at Sirius. Remus, bless him, had done again what he was best at: adapted and done so quietly without comment. Peter only required an uncharacteristically careful and delicate explanation of the events of the summer, skirting around the edges of what none of them wanted to speak about. Peter had simply shrugged and avoided talking about it—or the summer—in favor of lighter subjects.

But James, outspoken and very much living still in a black and white world, could no longer understand his best friend.

They'd danced around it, covering it up in boisterous noise and exaggeration, but the night that Anna returned to school when Sirius came back late after dinner with his mind whirling with terms like _flashbacks _and _extreme aggression _and _disassociation, _the tension sprung up thick enough to cut with a knife. It wasn't quite curfew yet, and James, Peter, and Remus had been flipping through a Zonko's catalogue when Sirius came through the door. James looked up and all the confusion, the growing resentment and pent up anger was crystal clear even through his spectacles.

"Where were you?"

"Talking to Anna," Sirius returned, aware that his own voice had already become tight and defensive.

Remus jumped off James' bed, nudged Peter, and the two boys quietly went to their own corner of their shared room.

"She looked fine at dinner."

Sirius burst out, "Well she isn't! She has an anxiety disorder and she may never have a magical child and she's lost some of her own magic and her father's still _dead! _Dead, James! So don't you poke at her, or at me, just because she's in stinking Slytherin and comes from a dark family because if you hate her for it, you have to hate me too because I'm from a family that's got a far darker legacy than hers!"

"I don't hate her!" James denied hotly. "How could I? I just don't think she's good for you." His voice turned a little pleading now. "You're different, Sirius. You were different after you came back from France, and I don't like how obsessed you are…"

Torn between fury and understanding, Sirius shook his head. "It wasn't her that changed me, James. Or if it was, it was to make sure I changed in the direction I needed to go in. You couldn't know, James." Now he closed his eyes momentarily. "You couldn't know what it was like, living day in and day out there, surrounded by cold and the dark evil I didn't even begin to guess existed in this world." Shuddering, Sirius opened his eyes, stared at James. "To see children—_our _age, James, and younger than us, being taught with each breath they took that might is right, that blood that's been inbred for thousands of years is purer, better, and gives you the right to kill. To take your wand and make something so ugly and cause pain with it—to twist even the simplest and the most innocent of spells to an evil purpose. They're people too, and they didn't get a say into which family, what tradition, they would be born into and how they had to live their lives. That Anna, that any of them can still see past the lies they've been fed over and over again since they were born, is a miracle."

Shocked into silence by the passion and the pain in Sirius' voice as much as the words his friend was uttering, James blinked owlishly. Then both his and Sirius' heads swiveled in surprise as someone else spoke.

"They take everything that you believe, everything you have faith in, that you know is right and true and good, all the light, and they corrupt it."

It was Peter who spoke, Peter who looked long and hard at each one of his friends. He was white as a sheet and his hands trembled visibly but his eyes were steel. "You think, 'if I can just make it the next day, the next hour…' but if you stop fighting even for a minute, you lose. You lose yourself. And they win." Now hugged his arms to himself, rubbing up and down as if cold though the room was warm. "They always win."

It the quiet—so quiet that Peter's labored breathing was like shout—the four friends looked at each other. Finally, it was Remus that broke the frozen tableau. Gently but firmly, he sat Peter down on his bed. "Karee," he said to the waiting air. Sirius did not recognize the little house-elf who appeared almost instantly.

"Master Remus?" The house-elf frowned. "You is not being supposed to call…" she took another look at the scene before her and her frown deepened. "Hot tea," she said firmly. "Chocolate. Is you needing Headmaster Dumbledore?"

"No, I think tea and chocolate will be fine. Thank you. I wouldn't have called you unless it was important," Remus said solemnly.

Karee vanished. Sirius stirred. "I didn't know you could call a Hogwarts house-elf," he murmured.

"You can't, not really." Remus shrugged. "I'm not supposed to use it frivolously, but Karee was assigned to me when I first arrived at Hogwarts, to keep an eye on me, in case…" he trailed off, but no one was in doubt of what Remus was talking about.

_In case I escape during full moon. In case I am too badly injured to move after one of my nights. _

"You never told us about her," James remarked, trying too hard to sound casual.

"You never asked."

"So did she know…"

"That you became Animagi to run with me? Of course." Now Remus smiled. "And, I assume, so does the Headmaster as Karee makes reports to him each month."

"And Dumbledore never let on," James mused, half-amazed.

_And makes it all the more unconscionable in the…Snape incident, _Sirius thought, but kept to himself. _If he had a house-elf watching, how did my stupid, dangerous prank get so far in the first place? Let alone…well, enough is enough. _He wasn't going to blame Dumbledore for something he may or may not have known about. Yet.

Karee blinked in, this time holding a silver tray. "Drink," she ordered the boys in her no-nonsense tone. She thrust the tray towards Peter, and after a long moment Peter carefully lifted one of the mugs of steaming tea with both hands. After a beat, the other three followed his example, crowding onto Peter's bed. "And chocolate biscuits, but if Roo is seeing _any _crumbs tomorrow mornings, especially on beds, he is telling Karee and Karee is bashing your heads with the tray as well as her ownsies!" With that threat, the diminutive creature brandished her now-empty tray and disappeared.

They stared after her. "I don't recall house-elves ever being so…opinionated," James said after a moment.

Remus snorted. "When I was first introduced to her, she first threatened to beat me with her wooden spoon if I ever tried to use her for anything besides life-or-death. Then she told me that I was too thin, and started leaving chocolate and candy for me."

"I wish our house-elf was like that," Sirius said admiringly. "Kreacher just mutters whole speeches my mother's given about blood purity and the mission of cleansing the world of filth."

"You don't need any more chocolate, fatso," James retorted, and Sirius punched his shoulder.

"Pot calling the kettle black," he shot back, and took two chocolate biscuits to spite James.

Their bantering was having the effect they'd intended—even now, Peter was visibly relaxing, and his shaking had subsided. He was still pale and waxen and avoided everyone's eyes—probably ashamed of acting like a baby—and he did not say anything, but Sirius knew that he would be fine. And as for James—

"I bet Anna will want to see you, to say thank you," he said to James casually.

"Yeah? Well maybe tomorrow. Has she ever seen the Gryffindor commons?" James replied, just as casually.

"No, but I think she'd like to see it," Sirius answered.

"We can show her the birth-place for many a good prank then," James said, and his quicksilver smile flashed out boldly. Sirius grinned himself, and felt the comfort of their friendship enfold them once again.

"And you can introduce her to Lily and see what your lovely flower thinks of her, since you deem her a much better judge of character than yourself," he teased.

"Shut up," James growled, but he was hiding a smirk and both Remus and Peter now joined in to ruthlessly yank James' chain about the girl he'd one way or another been fixed on since first year.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

The Halloween Ball was, as always, highly anticipated and highly talked about. Even among the Slytherins, there was an air of suppressed excitement mixed with a healthy amount of ostentatious disdain at the 'schoolgirl dance'. Childish or no, this _was _the first chance of the year that the children of the traditional Pureblood families would get to really attract a possible future spouse. Many, if fewer each year out of the traditional families still married straight out of Hogwarts or a year or two down. The most eligible, the elite of the Pureblooding heirs, were often snatched up early and no one wanted to settle for the duller specimens that were left after the first wave of engagements.

_Such is the lot of those too biased, too snooty, to consider anything less than an old and shining-pure family bloodline, _Severus thought with some scorn. He knew with bone-deep certainty that blood was blood. The red viscous liquid that had welled up in the thousand cuts he had scored on his father's flesh had bled just the same as that which pumped through the veins of the demon in human form, Rosier. And it had been Muggle, not magical blood, taken with violence and a sick glee in that violence that had created the impenetrable wards at Death Cottage…

Shaking the nightmare away before it could creep on him again, Severus schooled his face into neutrality as he ate. On his right, Anna Nott was conversing unconcernedly with Charlotte Greengrass. He had respect for the girl. Not even among those who attended Summer Gatherings were there many who would be able to sit not two feet from those who had participated in the murder of a beloved parent three times a day for meals, and maintain the air of a queen. That genuine respect and yes, even like, of the girl was why he continued to make sure he flanked her on one side at every meal. Greengrass guarded her other side, and that way if she had to sit and sup at the same table as her father's murderers, at least she would sit next to—perhaps not friends, but allies.

Not to mention the small matter of that Blood Oath to her father to protect her. And, of course, it gave Severus a fierce stab of pleasure every time he saw the flash of irritation and impotence on Rosier's face. Anna was Rosier's own personal failure for once, and Severus was damned if he wasn't going to enjoy every ounce of that failure. _And though you don't know it, your second failure, _he thought in the safety of his own mind. _For your first failure was in approaching me at all. And soon, sooner than you think, you will regret having laid eyes on Severus Snape at all. _

He had taken every single possible class there was available to him, and after seeing Nott off safely into the gallant—ugh!—escort of Black, Severus picked up his pace to get to his next class early.

He was the first one, but to his displeasure not five minutes after he'd laid out his textbooks, someone else walked in. He turned, an unpleasant insult ready on his lips, only to die away unspoken at the sight of who had disturbed his peace.

Lily looked at him, and her vibrant green eyes slashed through his walls quicker than lightning. Just as quickly, she looked away from him, and slid into a seat. Without her eyes beating at his soul, he let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. _Hello to you too, _he thought sarcastically. _I'm very well, and you? _Determined to ignore the girl who had once been his whole world, Severus turned back to his books. He extracted his thesis proposal and placed the scroll on the desk, and then opened the slim book he had borrowed from the library. The lettering was ancient Greek, and he was about halfway through painstakingly translating it into Queen's English. He could have used a transliteration spell of course, but Flitwick himself would have been the first to warn him of the dangers of those types of charms. _Quick and easy and too often inaccurate. They take the first or most common meaning to each word, but only a human with intimate knowledge of the subject can catch the nuances the subtleties that an author may employ to hint at a different translation. And one changed word may mean the difference between life and death._

There was no room for quick and easy, not in this class and not in Severus' own work. It was too important. Still, it was irritating to Severus to _feel _Lily's eyes on his hunched back, watching him. And it was distracting him. He grit his teeth.

'_I went down with Nicias, son of Xenophon, to watch the newest play. It had pleasing flattery from the philosophers and warriors. And as I saw the gods bless their favored mortals with otherworldly powers, Nicias called upon me to speak for the men of magic._

_Nicias said: Are you then blessed by the gods, you men with strange powers to create and destroy with your carved wands of wood?_

_No, for none know the hand that gives one and not the other that might of dreams, I said._

_But do you deny the gods?_

_Not at all._

_At length, at the conclusion of the stage, I turned to Nicias. _

'_Tis blood that determines magic, and 'tis the gods who have determined the bloodline of man._

_But the—_

"Snape. Snape. Severus!"

"What? What?" He snapped out of the haze of ancient Greece and stared up at—Lily?

"You never change," she said with a weak smile. "Lost in a book." When he did not return her smile, her own faded. "Look, Severus, I just wanted to know how you're doing."

"Peachy," he said in a monotone. "None of your business, princess. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Translating an ancient Greek philosopher's speculations about the origins of magical power and the ability to wield it," Lily observed with a voice he'd only rarely heard her use—one she had told him, an eternity ago, was modeled after his own sarcasm. "He argued that it was blood that either did or did not carry the element of magic, but that the heart of wielding that power well came from a man's character. Interesting reading, Severus, since the author, Leonidas, was reported to have been later murdered by a group of Pureblood wizards who resented the implications that magical blood did not automatically mean greatness."

"What do you want from me, Lily?" he asked with more honest frustration in his voice than he'd shown to anyone in a long time.

Lily looked taken aback, her eyes clearly showing surprise at his tone. "I just…look, I heard some things from James, okay?"

Slowly, Severus laid his quill down. "What sort of things?"

"Things." She shrugged a little uneasily, her auburn hair spilling off her shoulders at the movement. "He said that you were at a Pureblood gathering this summer. That you somehow helped Sirius. That you had a hand in saving Anna Nott."

Severus' hand shot out, grabbed Lily's wrist. "Do not. Ever. Say that. Aloud. Do you understand?" he hissed, dark eyes furious. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"No!" Lily tugged her hand away, eyes snapping herself. "I'm just worried, Severus!"

"Worried? Worried that perhaps the sneaky Slytherin somehow bespelled and hoodwinked your beloved _pets? _Or maybe that I'm plotting something sinister?" he sneered, the bitterness bubbling unchecked within him.

"You idiot thick-head! I'm worried for _you!" _Lily shouted. There was a ringing silence as Severus tried to understand what Lily was saying. She glared at him, and her fearless stance and stubbornly stuck out chin, flashing green eyes and tossed back hair was just so _Lily _that for once, Severus found himself without words.

"Lily…"

The door opened. Lily jumped, and even Severus nearly flinched, taken off-guard as he rarely was. Hastily, they turned away from each other as Professor Flitwick entered, and close behind, the rest of their class. "Ah, Snape, early as usual," Flitwick said cheerfully. "Evans, getting an early start to class?"

She mumbled something, and as Remus Lupin slid in to the seat next to her, he gave her—and then Severus—a suspicious glance. Lily looked away, but Snape merely met the boy's gaze with a cool one of his own.

"Now, we've gone through the history and development of the modern charm," the tiny professor said, perching comfortably on the edge of his desk. "As far back as we can trace, from the Greeks and Romans to today. Today's the day you've been waiting for. When you signed up for History of Charms and again when you were informed that your grades were sufficient to allow you into the class, you were told that this wasn't just a lecture class. Every one of you will be developing and writing your own thesis. That thesis will be attached to your Charms NEWT for the examiners to read as well as form the majority of your class grade. Those theses that impress me—well, I have plenty of friends all over the world who work in many different fields involving Charms. You might just find yourself a job. It has happened before, in years past whenever there was enough interest for this class to be offered." Professor Flitwick studied each of the six students who had not only shown interest in, but had in the past six years demonstrated consistently high grades and that spark of real talent and creativity rather than simple rote memorization in Charms. One Slytherin, one Ravenclaw, two Gryffindors, and two Hufflepuffs, all seventh years but the one Hufflepuff who was a frighteningly precocious sixth year. He had pushed all six of them hard in previous years, and none of them had disappointed. He had high hopes for all of them. It had been at least a decade since he had seen this much raw talent in Charms and that something more that a teacher looks for from their students.

They had come in polarized, the diminutive man remembered. He wasn't a long-time professor and Head of House for nothing, and he had known, even as he put together the class list in August, that it would be difficult in terms of class dynamics. All the seventh years resented the sixth year, and in turn, the younger Hufflepuff boy was exceedingly withdrawn and shy. Charms the only subject he excelled at, and Filius Flitwick had had to argue with the other professors on staff that he ought to be allowed to take the advanced class. The Slytherin and the two Gryffindors had…history. A lot of personal animosity there, and Minerva had spent many a staff meeting agonizing about the constant drama. The girl from his own House tended towards isolation and despised working with anyone else, regardless of House affiliation.

It was the end of October, and though he could not say they were all best friends, two months of classes with just the six of them—and a _lot _of group discussions, partner and group work, class projects, challenges, and whatever else Filius could pull out of his wizard's hat of tricks had mostly ironed out the tension. Out in the hallways and the rest of school, they might dislike or even hate each other, but in here they could—and by Merlin, _would—_work as a team.

So it was only now that he felt remotely comfortable in giving them the assignment they had signed up to the class for. He only hoped that the hard-won teamwork he'd forced in the classroom would not vanish now that they were going to start their individual theses. Past years of teaching the class, the last time sixteen years ago, made Filius confident that despite the solitary nature of a personal thesis, only those who sought aid and debated, discussed, and edited each other's work would come up with something halfway acceptable to his grading standard.

"Today, you will be spending the first half of class brainstorming ideas for your thesis. The second half, we'll be discussing them in groups. Giving each other ideas, pointers, ways to go from here." He beamed at all of them, enjoying the solemnity of their young faces, so ready, so expectant. "Get ready," he said with excitement, rubbing his hands together. "We're only just getting started on the real work."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Aw, Lily," Sirius groaned. "You didn't."

"I just want to know what's going on," his best friend's girl said snippily. "What I've heard from James…I was friends with Severus once, Sirius. Now we're not, but I can't just not care if he's in trouble."

"No, I suppose you can't." Sirius remembered how furious James had been at the way Lily had stood up for Snape in years past. Even after they'd stopped being friends—something Lily refused to discuss, not even with James—she'd stalk away if any of them had been badmouthing the Slytherin. James had learned very quickly to just not mention him at all around Lily.

"So. Is he in trouble?"

Sirius squirmed. He couldn't exactly tell Lily the real truth, but then again the girl had a dogged, persistent way of getting what she wanted. He scratched his head and decided that a fellow Gryffindor wouldn't be offended by his being frank. "Look, Lily, there's a lot of things I _can't _tell you, okay? But…you know, I think Snape could use a friend. Or something. If it isn't obvious to others."

The red-haired girl narrowed her eyes, but Sirius held his tongue though his knees felt trembly. Never mind a viper's nest of dangerous Purebloods, Lily Evans on a crusade was scarier any day!

Finally, it was she who relented. On a sigh, she nodded. "Alright. I'll let it go. But Sirius, just tell me one thing. Does Sev- Severus, does he believe the nonsense that the Death Eaters have been putting about?"

Unspoken was her deeper question. _Is Severus one of them? _

She had thought that he was poised on the brink of becoming one, when she had stopped speaking to him. It was why she had pulled away, why she had let an insult that she had been called many times before become the reason for the end of a lifetime friendship. In the months prior, she'd seen the boy she thought she knew change into a frighteningly cold and emotionless shadow, caught glimpses of an intensity that scared her.

But if she had been wrong, if he really wasn't one of them and she had cut off their friendship and for nothing…

She wasn't sure she could live with it.

Sirius met her eyes. "You can't tell a soul," he warned her. "It could mean his death."

She swallowed, nodded. And there was her answer. _And it was me in the wrong, all this time. _

It took Lily a week to figure out the best way to approach Severus again. Sirius had impressed on her the absolute importance of secrecy, and she had once again wondered at the changes in the impetuous Gryffindor she'd hated and then tolerated and then somehow become friends with. Not to mention it had taken this long to figure out how to apologize for the irreparable damage her own stupidity, pride, and assumptions had done to what had once been a friendship of invaluable worth.

As she stood quietly watching the sun go down from the top of the Astronomy Tower, she still wasn't sure if she could.

"Evans."

She turned. "You came."

He said nothing, but strode over to stand by her and stare out at the darkening skies himself. She watched him, the darkness even in the twilight that he cut, a strong black slash. Even as children, she had instinctively recognized the danger and mystery that rolled off of him. In his ragged, ill-mended castoffs and unhealthily skinny, with the pale sallow features of a child under the shadow of an unforgiving home, even then there had been that intensity, that hint that he would one day be a formidable man. At sixteen, Severus wore his body far more comfortably than many of his classmates. It distressed Lily and brought a quick blush to her cheeks to realize that the dangerous air, veiled with that layer of ice and sneer that was the well-known trademark, was unreasonably attractive. _Merlin, _she thought, horrified. _It's Severus! And besides, I'm in love with James. _The thought of her boyfriend made her feel, as always, equal parts joyful and exasperated. The warmth that he brought, the way he stirred her heart, it was impossible to deny the connection she felt to James Potter.

Still, she was grateful to the brisk wind that whisked through the top of the Astronomy Tower and cooled her flushed cheeks.

He perfectly calm, able to dwell in the silence just staring at the last, defiant rays of the dying sun. She finally caved and spoke first, staring out at the horizon as well. "When you called me that name, it hurt a lot."

No need to identify what incident she was talking about. He didn't turn his head, but replied her flatly. "I apologized."

"Yes, you did." She took a quick, calming breath. "At first it was real hurt that made me not listen. We were best friends, Severus. You swore to me, when you first really started to spend time with Rosier and those Slytherins, that you would never let it affect our friendship. Then you called me _that…" _she trailed off. Swallowed. "After…it became less about the hurt and more about my pride." She squeezed her eyes shut, as if it would block out the truth she spoke. She did not allow herself to think as she laid what had gnawed at her heart since the day they had stopped speaking to each other.

"I was angry and too proud, too full of myself, to forgive you even though I already had. I knew that you didn't mean it. I knew that you were honest about being sorry. But I…Merlin. I wanted to make you crawl a little, to make you hurt a bit because you hurt me and embarrassed me. There I was just trying to help you, _trying, _damn it, to make James and the others see past the Slytherin and see the person I knew you were, and you just blew it all by your stupid mouth." Lily took a breath and when it seemed as though Severus was not going to say anything, kept going with a dogged need to finish it despite the sick nervousness now roiling in her stomach. "Then I was too proud to approach you, when I finally cooled off enough to see clearly. And you didn't come back." She wondered at the way her voice wobbled as she repeated it. "You didn't try to talk to me, or…anything. You just…it was like you didn't care about me, didn't care that we weren't friends anymore. You were spending all your time with your gang of Slytherins and one day I looked across the Great Hall to you, sitting at the Slytherin table, and I realized that I didn't know you anymore. Didn't recognize you anymore. You were so different. Are so different..."

Blindly, she opened her eyes, stared through a haze of unshed tears at the first stars that decorated the full dark that had come while her eyes had been closed. She heard Severus' breathing, still even and calm, beside her. "I could—and I did—make excuses about how you were turning dark, how you'd been going down that path already by the time you called me a Mudblood, how it was just the last straw and you weren't the boy I had been friends with anymore…but the truth is, I was too proud and too cowardly to fix what I destroyed by my own anger and ego and the more time that passed, the easier it was to delude myself into believing my excuses and not think about what I had done or what I had lost."

It felt as though she had eaten too much and then run a hard race. Steeling herself, Lily turned now to face Severus. She felt half-frozen as she met his eyes squarely and said what she had not had the courage to say before. "I'm sorry, Severus."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

Afterwards, no one was quite sure when the unspoken détente had been put into effect. Still, anyone who attended Hogwarts that year and had an interest in inter-House gossip would note that sometime after the Halloween Ball (where the professors had, inevitably, taken copious amounts of points from students in various states of disrobe and given the Marauders two weeks of detention for spiking the punch), Lily Evans and Severus Snape no longer pretended as if the other did not exist.

That was not to say they were friends, as they had been in years previous before That Incident. Avid eyes, however, noticed that on occasion the two might nod at each other formally if passing in the hall, and more rarely, even speak to each other about relevant class work. Even more spectacularly, James Potter, though visibly restraining himself, was doing just that—_restraining himself. _There were no loud, explosive accusations or escalation of pranks. It was a most peculiar truce, and was the subject of conversation for a good three days before bigger and juicier news was to be discussed, and soon, it was no longer worth more than a fleeting raised eyebrow or snide comment.

Such is the lifespan of gossip amongst adolescents, and it afforded Severus and Lily—and James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Anna to become awkwardly acquainted with the terms of truce.

**Author's Notes:**

_I apologize for having neglected this story for as long as I have! To be honest, I had to do some major rewriting as I reread some of what I wrote for this chapter a while ago. Hopefully there won't be as much to rewrite after the next chapter or so. _

_The chapter title is Latin for "peace". _


	13. April is in my Mistress' Face

**Disclaimer: Wish I did, but I don't. **

"You're staying here for Christmas, Snape?" His friends were rapidly vanishing into the distance with their trunks, making their way out of Hogwarts, anxious for break to begin, but Sirius had caught sight of Snape lurking in the corridor that they'd passed and he'd lingered just long enough so he could catch the surly boy's attention and speak in a low tone to him.

"Have you seen anything at suggests any differently, Black?" Snape posed to him with a quirk of his eyebrow and the tone of his voice both ironic and implying that _he _thought that Black was incapable of observation at all.

"Not really, no," Sirius answered cheerfully, taking in the habitual black robes and no trunk in sight, not to mention it wasn't the pleasantest of places Snape had to return to. _Understatement of the year, that, _he thought to himself with a rather morbid twist of humor.

"And you, I presume, are going with the Potters?" The question was asked in a pained fashion. Truce they may have had this year, but that did not make their limited interactions any less stiff. Sirius could not quite look at Snape without the images and memories of the summer superimposed over the pale, black-clad student in his classes. It made for an uncomfortable sensation every time he greeted Snape in passing, or nodded his acknowledgement when the other boy silently came between Anna and Rosier every time Rosier tried to get anywhere near her. Still, for some unknown reason Sirius was not able to just ignore Snape the way James and Peter had decided was the best policy in light of the ceasefire. He was not even able to act as Remus and Lily seemed to have picked up, a sort of casual acquaintance courtesy that Snape returned with distant politeness. That reserve was just too—little? Flavorless?—and somehow unsatisfactory. Hell, maybe a summer of actually talking and working with the bastard had made him unable to accept anything less than the same sort of sniping they had exchanged as he had learned from Snape. Or maybe he was just crazy. Yes, that must be it. He was just plain bonkers.

"Yes," he said in reply to Snape's present question. "Yes, I'm going home with James. Anna's coming with us as well," he added, although he thought that Snape would most likely know that fact already.

And, in fact, he did. "I know," came the dry reply.

"Well…" awkwardly, Sirius kicked a toe into the floor, dragging it along the ground. _I can't even view him with any real animosity anymore. Gods above and Merlin below, I think I might actually consider him an odd sort of friend! _The realization was unsettling and all together vexatious, but would explain his need to approach the Slytherin occasionally and strike up conversations (which were, inevitably, returned with a snide remark or two and a raised eyebrow). _Maybe it's not that. Surely not, _he thought with a slight dose of panic. _It must just be that I feel sorry for how life has treated him, and I got used to his snarky diatribes over the summer. He's just an ally in keeping Anna safe. Must be just that. He's in the same boat as I am to keep Anna safe, so we're working together and naturally I am concerned about him being able to do that. _Having convinced himself—almost—that this was his intention, Sirius let out a breath. "Uh…I guess…hope you have a good holiday then. You and two Hufflepuffs are the only ones this year staying at Hogwarts."

"I shall certainly enjoy the solitude," Snape murmured without a hint of emotion.

_Why you sly snake! That's the closest you've ever come to admitting since we got back to school that Rosier is still...being obnoxious and disgusting. _Sirius shuddered involuntarily, and Snape must have noticed although he gave no sign of it but instead turned slightly away, an evident dismissal. "Your friends will be wondering where you are."

"I should go then," Sirius said in some embarrassment, directing his trunk up to float in the air again at the command of his wand. Taking a step, Sirius paused and then resolutely half-turned and said, "Merry Christmas, Snape," before pulling a small package wrapped sloppily in green paper out of the pocket of his robes and thrusting it into the boy's hands. "I have to go," he blurted out, and practically ran from Snape, his trunk bouncing in the unevenness of his spell as he forgot to concentrate on keeping it level. He chanced a look back just before he turned the corner, and saw that Snape was still standing there, dumbfounded, with the package clutched tentatively in his lax hands. It was a sight that he took with him even as he joined his friends and began making his way to a welcoming hearth and warm friendship.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"It's good to meet you, Master Birraio," Severus said formally as he shook hands with the short little man in front of him. "I hope you have not had too much trouble in coming to our part of the world?"

"Much governmental hassle, but a pleasant trip despite that," Luigi Birraio answered with a quick nod. They took their seats in the small and comfortable room that the Room of Requirement had provided from them (and that, for once, Severus actually had official permission to utilize for an 'interview', as many seventh year students did if a potential employer wished to meet them outside of the office). Both examined the other surreptitiously, acknowledging that the other was doing the same thing and perfectly in accord with each other's examination. Birraio was a thin, leathery-skinned man who was balding and yet retained a lively, bird-like quality in his movements and a sharpness in his hazel eyes that told Severus that whatever physical age this man might appear to be, Birraio was most definitely in possession of all his wits.

"I'm sorry to hear that you had trouble with the Ministry," Severus responded politely.

"Ah, il governo—it is a thing which is a necessary evil, is it not? In some cases these officials wish too much power, and in others the officials are ineffective to their people. Sometimes both." Birraio spoke airily, in abstracts, but the shrewd look he turned on Severus told him that the comment had been most likely aimed specifically at the Ministry of Magic for Great Britain—a stab at his national pride to test the waters, probably.

"Certainly," Severus replied neutrally.

After a long silence, in which Severus appeared completely unconcerned and unaffected, the man relaxed a little and laughed. "Ah, this boy, my friend Karston tells me, 'this boy, you will get more from a rock than from him.' I will do well to take you, Mister Snape, not just for my friend's sake who has done me many favors and whom I shall miss greatly, but for my own as well. Italy will do well by you and, I suspect, you by it."

"You have not tested my knowledge, nor seen my brewing," Severus remarked cautiously, although his heart beat faster.

"If you are the young brewer who has provided Lucius Malfoy with his potions in recent years past, I find myself utterly satisfied as to your knowledge and brewing abilities," came the prompt reply. "And having survived that snake's pit of which my old friend oft described to me, I am all the more satisfied. I do, however, wish to test you in another arena all together." The man tapped his finger on his knee in thought, and then queried, "What do you think about the brewing or use of potions that maim, kill, or torture?"

"It is my preference not to brew them for a sadistic psychopath on a rampage for innocent victims," Severus replied. "I have no qualms in the brewing of them, but if I had my choice I would be very careful in who I sold them to—and demand a high price for them as well."

"And of using Dark ingredients, illegally sold or bartered?"

"I call into question the manner of potion being brewed and the way in which the ingredient came to me."

"Ah, I see." The man did not explain further, but he seemed satisfied as he moved on to the next question.

"What do you see as the biggest threat to your nation?"

"Corruption and fanaticism."

"Why?"

"Corruption is insidious. It's there before you look for it, and it remains a possibility for every single human to become corrupt—to so thoroughly destroy themselves and all around them like a blight that one day, the world as we know it will have become peopled entirely by beasts rather than men. Fanaticism is never logical, and it destroys our rational human senses, makes men into beasts more prone to blood-shed than the natural animals themselves."

"What is your wish out of life?"

"Freedom." The answer was rapid, sure-fire, and completely and brutally honest. Severus hadn't had to think about it, although he blinked after blurting it out, rather astonished at himself for having spoken the unadorned truth without thinking at all or analyzing the situation.

But yet he didn't have time to regret his honesty, for the intent gaze that had been trained on him, penetrating and evaluating, had turned almost—gleeful? "Mister Snape, it is my true honor to offer you a formal position as my apprentice in Potions Mastery if you would wish it, after you graduate," Barriao stated ceremoniously.

Briefly, Severus' eyes widened and his mouth opened before he caught his unguarded appearance and hastily straightened his expression. _He's offering me the apprenticeship, Barraio's really offering me the apprenticeship! My way out…_shaken with the storm of emotions taking place inside, Severus swallowed and murmured, "It would be my honor to accept your offer and become your apprentice, Mister Barraio."

"Luigi. When you start your apprenticeship, you will be calling me Master Luigi, Severus."

"Yes, Master Luigi," Severus said, head still spinning from the sudden hope that it felt—hope that he hadn't had since he'd met Evan Rosier. It was a foreign emotion, and he found himself a little short of breath, as if he had been running very fast.

"Come, let us discuss life," Master Luigi said half-jovially half-solemnly, drawing Severus' attention back to him even as his inner self did vaults and handstands and generally jumped for joy.

Later that night, as he lay in bed idly listening to his own breathing, Severus closed his eyes and let himself imagine, just for a moment, what his future could be like. _Italy_. _Warm sun, piazzas. Beautiful cathedrals, the artwork of centuries of culture both Wizarding and Muggle. Just the peace of brewing and the air of freedom. Glistening fountains where, he had heard once, if you turned backwards and threw a coin or two over his shoulder into the sparkling water, you would ensure a return. Return? He would never want to leave! _Pulling the blankets closer to his chin, Severus curled up tighter—a habit he had developed as a child to make his body less of a target, and one he had never really grown out of.

_In Italy, I can start over. I can make my own life. Four years as an apprentice to Luigi, and I do not think he is the kind of man to indulge in senseless brutality. Deception and games and danger, yes, I sense that he is a master at such games as the Pureblood culture here thrives on. But he has his own code of ethics, and he seems to hold fast to such as his honor. _All of Severus' carefully trained instincts told him that Luigi was a man whom he could trust, especially now that he had accepted the binding contract as an apprentice, making Luigi his master and essentially, his guardian and protector until the apprenticeship came to an end_. _

_Four years, and by then I'll have settled in Italy, or found another country I want to emigrate to perhaps. I heard that Italy welcomes fugitives from everywhere as long as you come in peace and follow the rules of the Mafia. Perhaps I can be of use to the Mafia, earn some power and control so that no one can wrest me away from Italy. And then when the four years are over, I'll have had enough time to distance myself from my childhood and the memories. I'll have had enough time to put together an appeal to the Wizgamot to sever the vow I made to Lucius to be his Potions supplier. They can't hold me to an oath already broken. That vow should be defaulted, since I took it on the condition that Lucius, as he promised in the same oath, would take care of me and keep me safe from harm and supply for my needs until I turn seventeen. He's paid for my education and he's given me enough money for books and paper and pocket money, but Lucius never once raised a hand to stop Evan Rosier from doing…that. He knew what was happening just as well as I, and he as good as encouraged Rosier to keep doing it! And even if the Wizgamot dismiss that on insubstantial evidence, I certainly have enough evidence of endangerment by forcibly placing me in a situation where I was exposed to the Dark Arts and coerced into practicing it. They certainly can't say he was holding to his vows then, and since I was not yet seventeen and I was in a dangerous situation, they can't charge me of anything for the Dark spells. _Severus' eyes glinted with anticipation of the day Lucius Malfoy would be displayed to the Wizgamot and the world as the disgusting creature of politics he was. _And I will be there, watching. _Grinning at that thought, Severus thought about the near future, what he had to do to ensure that the distant future would hold this kind of life for him.

_Just this year, _Severus thought fiercely. _Half a year, December to June, guarding the backs of Nott and Black, putting to use all the skills learnt from years of painful experience, trial and error, to protect the two people who actually gave a damn about whether he lived or died. Six months of enduring Evan Rosier's vile presence. Six months of silence. Six months of waiting. Six months of hope—the kind he'd thought he'd never find. Six months. Severus could do it—he'd been playing this game his entire life, after all. December to June wasn't all that bad. And he had people riding on his existence now, people who counted on him to survive, to make something of himself, _for _himself. _Smiling a real smile, Severus slept at last.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"You forgot your book, Black." A familiar acerbic voice interrupted Sirius as he and Anna departed the library—Anna having dragged him there to find a book.

"But I didn't—oh, thanks," Sirius muttered, having caught the warning glint in Snape's black eyes. He snatched the unfamiliar book from the slender long fingers and tucked it haphazardly under his arm, hurrying to catch up with Anna as she stood impatiently at the door.

Anna—Anna had had some rough times over the Christmas Hols, dealing with the post-traumatic stress disorder that Madame Pomfrey had told Sirius about. She'd blasted James across the room once when he'd said something that had reminded her too strongly of something unpleasant in the past, and she'd shrieked and clawed at him once when he'd tapped her shoulder from behind. But despite the manic episodes and the occasional meltdown into utter depression so deep she wouldn't talk and did nothing but lie in bed and close her eyes, Sirius was hopeful. She'd actually mentioned her father this morning. _"My father met him once," _she'd commented during a heated discussion about the legendary Hamish MacFarlan, captain of the Montrose Magpies Quidditch team. She'd been silent after that, but she hadn't done anything drastic or fallen into depression again.

_Improvement, _Sirius thought with optimism. _She'll never be the same happy Anna as before, but she'll be happy again, I swear it! _He escorted her to her room and left for the Gryffindor Dormitories, throwing himself onto the bed with a loud sigh.

"What's with the gust of wind?" Remus enquired from his bed. He was the only other one in their room—James and Peter were playing a furious game of chess, and from the looks of it, James was going to lose to Peter—_again. Damned if I know how Peter does it—it's the quiet ones who you have to keep an eye out for. It's not that James is bad at chess, but Peter is barely scraping by in his marks in almost all his classes and yet he's beaten every single person who considers himself or herself a chess aficionado, and the only person who manages to trounce him about half the time is that genius Ravenclaw kid in sixth year. _

"Nothing, just…stuff. Life." Sirius sighed again, flipping over to lie on his back and watch the uninteresting ceiling.

"What book did you get?"

At that, Sirius sat up again. He'd forgotten about Snape's unusual action in the library! "Oh—Snape made me take it, I suppose I should find out why," he announced, picking it up. He flipped it open to the flyleaf, where there was a small note written in a spidery scrawl under the title of the book.

_Black,_

_If your idea of a joke is to gift me with a bottle of poison, I shall have to disappoint you in not having killed myself yet. The hellebore will be used in my next potion instead._

_Keep the book. It will come in handy, I suspect._

_-S_

The title of the book, in bolded black lettering, was: _Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing Psychotherapy: A Guide on How to Cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in the Family. _And yet another small note in Snape's handwriting next to it remarked, _You might want to show this to Madame Pomfrey. The Muggles have some interesting treatments for PTSD. Just in case you wanted to be more than an oafish lump in Nott's life._

"Well, what is it?" Remus' voice broke through.

Putting down the book, Sirius began to laugh. _Why, Snape, I didn't know you cared! _Touched at the roundabout way of thanking him for the potion's ingredient he'd gotten Snape for Christmas—hellebore _was _hard to get for personal stores, after all, especially for a minor and without a generous allowance—as well as the sardonic words inscribed on a Muggle book that might give Sirius a new insight on how to help Anna achieve cathartic state, Sirius merely shook his head at Remus' bemused stare and stuck the book on his dresser, still grinning. "Do you want to go see if Peter has whupped James' arse yet?"

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_He was burning, screaming as liquid fire rained down and scored his cheeks, his chest, his arms, his legs—he couldn't move, paralyzed by a lump of leaden weight, boiling and boiling from the waist down as giant pincers grabbed him by the hips and midsection and squeezed until he couldn't breathe, not even to choke down the rain of fire or the burning smoke of the inferno, not even as the blood rose and flowed out of his mouth and ran down to stoke the flames, as Evan smiled angelically at him from far away and refused to bring him the water he carried in the bucket in his hand…_

Severus woke with a strangled scream still stuck in his throat, entire body sticky with sweat and fear and adrenaline. The darkness greeted him like the old friend it was, and as he slowly regained his senses and reoriented himself with what was real and what had been nightmare, he drank in gulps of the night air raggedly.

Slowly, he tore off the soaked sheets, padding out to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped, and stepped into the icy spray, shuddering as the cold water hit his feverish skin. The effect was almost a burning sensation, and he shuddered again and inched the water temperature closer to a lukewarm that would not evoke any nightmares. _The fire and blood dream again, _he thought grimly, his mind systematically breaking it down now that he was in control and not sleep-and-dream fogged.

_Most of it can be attributed to Elphard's secret. The Blood Wards…gods above, I don't think even the Dark Lord would stoop to that level of Dark! I didn't know such a Dark existed, a sort of black hole, sucking in anything remotely living whether good or bad—the entire structure of the ward is based on human torture in every dimension possible—no, even worse—on the _enjoyment _of human torture in every form possible and some that I didn't think _were _possible. _Severus didn't think that the nightmare would ever go away completely. The evil knowledge, and the subsequent night terrors, would be his to own until the next life. It was a small price to pay, in the great scheme of things, to have saved Anna Nott and honored his Blood Oath to a man he had respected. The nightmares only came infrequently, perhaps once a month. _Still, I'd rather not have that kind of knowledge tainting me. Not to mention that it's the most dangerous secret I'm keeping at the moment by far—if anyone that unscrupulous learned that I knew the secret of Elphard's Blood wards, I could be tortured and broken for such information. _And that, perhaps, had been the groundskeeper's aim in sharing his secret. _Elphard didn't want the knowledge to die with him, no matter how warped and vile that is, and it's safer to have another more-accessible carrier of the information if someone ever goes after it. And he saw me as the best carrier of the knowledge, I suppose, because I wouldn't use it lightly or tell it lightly. It's magic not meant to be widely known—in the wrong hands, it could mean the absolute disintegration of every moral in this country, and with it, the entire people. Knowledge like this in the minds of people who cannot hold it properly as a separate thing from themselves is the fastest corruptor of humans. _Even if they themselves were not inclined to use such magic, there were men—and women—who would pay, and pay handsomely, to buy such a secret. Severus had sold secrets before—not those specifically entrusted to him, those he had sworn to keep in exchange for that which the secret-giver had paid him. But there were many secrets in the world, and not all of them were paid for by those whose secret it was, and there were still more secrets that belonged to no one at all and could be sold freely to the highest bidder. Severus had done it more than once, though he took care to sell what would not come back to make trouble at his door.

But the appearance of Evan Rosier in his nightmare was not related at all to the groundskeeper's secret, and Severus grimly faced it head on as he flung his wet hair back and stepped out of the shower, roughly toweling off and _Scourgifying _his pajamas before putting them back on. _Rosier, the bastard. _He hadn't been as interested in Severus this year so far, thankfully. He had been severely reprimanded for his failure in guarding Anna, as well as his subsequent failures in getting her isolated to punish her for her desertion of the Purebloods and the Dark Lord in Hogwarts. So, Rosier was keeping low, amusing himself by leading several girls on a merry chase and getting into catfights over him, and Severus had only been called to his 'special company' a handful of times thus far.

Severus didn't hold any illusions about not going. Evan Rosier held a secret that Severus would do anything to keep secret.

_It isn't even something sensible, like if I had an illicit love affair with a married woman twice my age or had blackmailed the Minister or something, _Severus thought resentfully, moving silently back to his bed. _What crimes I have committed cannot be revealed without revealing much worse committed by Rosier and his coterie. _But years ago, Eileen Snape _had _had an affair, and the resulting child, completely Muggle, lived with her father in Yorkshire and went to school there, a completely and blissfully ignorant of the Wizarding world and her own heritage.

Brigitte Delaney would never know of her biological mother's indiscretions and that her own existence hung on Severus' silent endurance of Rosier's whims, for Severus had been the only one who knew about her, from his mother's whispered confession to him and his own investigations and had, like a fool, told Evan Rosier in the first flush of feeling loved and truly cared for.

Long after the feelings had faded into horror, disgust, and resigned loathing, Rosier had held that piece of information over Snape's head like an axe, threatening to tell one of the more fanatical adults—the Dark Lord, or Abraxas Malfoy, or even his own father Owen Rosier—which would certainly lead to a "purging of the foul mix of noble blood and filthy mud"—torture and death would be all sixteen-year-old Brigitte and her parents could expect.

_If I could just find a moment when Rosier is unguarded and alone…_but Evan Rosier, aware of his position in holding the crucial knowledge that Severus would kill to keep hushed, had not been in a position in which Severus could take advantage of him and Obliviate him or meddle in any way with his mind, not in all the years since that initial meeting that Severus cursed with his every breath. Not even post-coital moments. _Especially _not then_._

Cringing at that, Severus curled his knees up to his chest and listened to the breathing of his roommates. _Thank goodness that they're all sound sleepers. _But Rosier—Snape had a problem, and it was how to get rid of Rosier's hold over him without risking the lives of his ignorant half-sister and her family. He glanced over with loathing and revulsion at the gormless pig sleeping peacefully without a care two beds away. He'd never been able to come up with a solution thus far, not even as he frantically stepped up his research into innovative mind manipulative spells and potions and searched for opportunities to catch Rosier off-guard.

No such luck. _But there has to be a way. I'm seventeen now, and there are avenues open to me that there weren't before. The potion must work. I will make it work…otherwise, whether I go to Italy or not, there will be no escape._

Severus did not fall asleep that night at all.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

April was truly the month of rain it lived up to, for there was not one day that the skies would not drizzle miserably or worse, launch a full-blown ocean on the flooding earth below. Everyone was disgustingly depressed. It felt as if they were one day going to wake up and find that the castle had simply given way to the torrential downpour and picked up and floated away downstream. Even the charmed ceiling of the Great Hall seemed to pick up on the awful weather, for it wavered between two states—a grey, overcast pall to match the sky outside, or a bright, cloudless, extremely sunny day as if to make up for the weather outside by creating the extreme opposite indoors. Neither state induced much glee in the students.

Moony was more irritable than usual, growling and snapping at everyone until Wormtail had to run underneath Prongs' hooves to keep from being snatched up and used as a chew toy. And in the morning, transformation over, Remus had broken out his entire stash of chocolate—three bars of Honeyduke's finest, two chocolate frogs, and a large box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, holed himself up in the solitary room in the infirmary, and only emerged three hours later, looking weary, worn, and bearing the empty wrappers and cartons with not a single bit of chocolate in sight anywhere.

The only ones who still found pleasure in each day seemed to be James and Lily. James complained, sure, and was truly sorrowful over his loss of Quidditch time, but he had Lily, and Lily was a natural spirit-lifter with her ready smile and cheerful, bubbly personality. The red-headed girl could even beat James at his own game—talking. Lily could, on any given day, outtalk James Potter, which was quite a feat since James enjoyed the sound of his own voice quite a bit.

Personally, Sirius adored Lily for her charismatic generosity and for making his best friend happy, but he would not have been able to endure the girl if he had been the one dating her. _The chatter! The non-stop commentary on anything and everything! She's easy to talk to, which is good, but I wonder if she has ever not been able to interfere in something? _Lily had strong opinions on almost everything, and she wasn't afraid to express them. Loudly. Frequently. Almost without noticing, it had become James and Lily, Remus and Peter, and Sirius and Anna. James and Lily—obvious enough. Remus and Peter seemed to turn to each other as a source of peace_, _and oftentimes Sirius would find them huddled in the library companionably studying their own subjects in complete silence save the turning of a page or shifting of a limb. And Sirius and Anna—well, Anna was his friend and she needed his help and support now more than ever, Sirius reasoned. _She's still dealing with PTSD, although it's gotten better with the mixed approach the Healers have taken with her—Snape's Muggle book really did come handy, although I had a hard time explaining how I'd gotten it when I realized that the ink on the fly leaf is charmed only for me to be able to read it! Creative little spell, that—wonder whether he invented it or learned it somewhere. Nasty to deal with when Madame Pomfrey is looking at you like you grew another head, and asking if I've been feeling dizzy or ill in the past couple days. _

Snape—now there was another enigma. Sirius didn't like mysteries. James, Lily, Remus, and Peter were straightforward people with relatively straightforward lives, all in black and white. Even Anna was fairly understandable, despite her shadowed past. She still followed a certain formula that Sirius could half-way comprehend, just enough to be able to hold her as she screamed for her father or wept for her own loss. But Snape—that boy was just bent on evading definition, for just when Sirius had thought he'd pinned down just what Snape was, he shifted Sirius' perceptions once again.

Case in point: When Sirius had returned to Hogwarts, he'd borne with him the categorization of Snape as victim and worthy opponent as well as reliable ally through the Blood Oath. Then the boy had gone and withdrawn into himself, appearing almost as a shadow that slipped into and out of classes unobtrusively and was barely noticeable. That alone merited a heavier emphasis on the victimized role, and Sirius had felt an overwhelming sympathy for Snape, and a desire to be—not a friend, but perhaps a more perceptive and understanding ally. It had been what prompted the Christmas gift, and having received a belated present in return with an inscription that proved that Snape had appreciated the gesture had spurred Sirius into a more generous and expansive mood. Snape could be a gracious, mannerly fellow after all, and who said that all Slytherins were bad? Anna was a Slytherin, and she wasn't at all evil. But just when Sirius had decided to try and attempt something like acquaintance-friendship with the git, Snape had the temerity to suddenly, this month, show a sudden return to the Snape from the past. He sneered, he commented sardonically on particularly imbecilic actions or ideas—perhaps not as vitriolic as before, but they were comments aimed to sting—he walked as if the April rain had brought his lost arrogance back with it. And yet—even as he shot Sirius looks of disdain when Sirius' potion turned to a brown sludge in his cauldron instead of changing to a blue potion of a thick, syrupy consistency, Sirius felt as if there were something else behind the smirk. A hint of true humor, or as if there was a joke between the two of them that the rest of the world couldn't understand…but he wasn't certain if he was just hallucinating the added meaning to each insult and sneer.

_Blast Snape across the Charon and back, he just completely confuses me. Cryptic git. I can never tell what's going on with him. _He'd tried, once, to talk to Snape—in the boy's bathroom, when they'd bumped into each other and there had been no one else. Snape had merely made a couple cutting comments and strode away, as if Summer Gathering had been illusory, Christmas a dream, and saving Anna a hallucination.

"Earth to Sirius Black!"

Starting, Sirius looked away from the window he'd been staring out of blindly and smiled at the shorter girl looking up at him with wide, disgruntled eyes. "Yes, Anna?"

"I've been _trying _to get your attention for the past ten minutes," she informed him pertly. "I was _going _to ask you if you wanted to go out and catch the few moments of no rain that we seem to be experiencing right now. James, Lily, and Peter are already outside with some others playing pick-up Quidditch. Remus is chatting up some Ravenclaw girl about the best ways to ward off a vampire and won't budge from the library."

"Oh. Sorry." Sirius grinned charmingly at her, teeth flashing in false sincerity. "You now have one hundred and ten percent of my attention. Remus has a girl?"

"They're _friends, _and I know for a fact that Patty Wright—that's the Ravenclaw—is also in love with Tanny Dover, like half the girls in school are."

"Ah, Dover." Sirius pulled a face. "The built Hufflepuff with the heart of a lover and face of an angel."

"Don't put him down, Sirius," Anna reproved, looping her arm through his and dragging him from his post at the arbitrary window in the hallway that he'd stopped and idled at for goodness-knows how long. "It's not an attractive trait. One might think you were jealous of Tanny's popularity."

"I'm not!" Sirius protested hotly.

But Anna eyed him speculatively, a gleam entering her eyes. "Ohh…you _are _jealous, aren't you? Is it because he's so popular that he's taking away from your fan-club? I wouldn't worry, Tanny's the guy girls dream of marrying. You're the guy all the girls—and quite a few of the guys as well—would dream of shagging."

_"Anna!"_

"It's true." She shrugged nonchalantly, dimpling at him mischievously. They stepped outside the doors of Hogwarts at that moment, and a rare thin ray of sunlight, filtered by the grayish gruel of the perpetual rain clouds, lit up her tiny, heart-shaped face and bright eyes, and Sirius caught his breath, his mind tripping over itself and stuttering. She looked like an impish pixie, one of the fair folk of the forest and mound, graceful beauty in a flitting, elfish sort of manner. _Wow, _his mind breathed. _Wow, _his heart agreed.

"I'm not—it's not—I don't—"

Sirius didn't know what he was responding to, her conversation or his own stunning discovery of the way Anna's hair framed her darling face and rippled charmingly in the breeze.

"Oh, Sirius," Anna laughed, lifting up her face to meet his more squarely, not suspecting his true train of thought.

But Sirius was no longer following the conversation at hand. Instead, almost without realizing the foreign yet oh so natural movements of his hands, he reached out to smooth a strand of brown hair and secure it behind an ear so it wouldn't fall in her eyes, her gorgeous eyes. "Your eyes are so pretty, Anna," he heard himself say—whisper, almost. He became aware that they were standing much closer than they had been two minutes ago, and he could feel her warm breath from where he stood.

Frozen still, Anna replied hoarsely, "No they're not."

"They're the exact same shade as the sky. Subtle, soft, clouds heavy with potential dreams…" Sirius trailed off, blushing as he realized that he was waxing way too eloquent on a comparison between her eyes and what most would consider "dreary rain clouds." And the shock on Anna's face didn't bode well. Panic set in. He'd barely confessed to himself that he _liked _Anna in _that _way, and now he was telling her! And she hadn't said anything, only stared at him as if he were something unfamiliar, a strange thing in an unexpected place…humiliated, stomach churning and roiling with self-disgust and a deep sense of rejection, Sirius began to turn away, to flee the scene of his ultimate failure—

And Anna's hand flew out to catch him on the shoulder and grip tightly. "Don't go."

"Don't…you mean you want me to stay?" He whipped around so fast he nearly lost his balance, but he disregarded it as he looked at Anna with mingled hope and fear.

"Of course I do! Sirius, I haven't liked Tanny Dover in months. You don't have to be jealous. I was just surprised—I mean, you and I are friends but I never thought you'd return my feelings—"

"You—you feel the same way for me?" Sirius was stunned, an unstoppable surge of something akin to fierce _hope _swelling and rising in his chest until it felt as if he'd eaten too much.

Anna's face, her eyes, glowed. "Yes, Sirius. I have liked you for quite a while now, but I never knew if you liked me back or if you just thought of me as a friend, and I didn't want you to think I was trying to use you as a method of getting over my nightmares and my disorder. I'm not, Sirius, I swear."

"I believe you," Sirius reassured her, still slightly incoherent and tipsy from Anna's admission of feelings for him. There was a breath, a heartbeat of silence, of uncertainty and _now-what-do-we-do, _and then Sirius without consciously deciding to, closed the distance between he and Anna and their lips met in pure joy.

It was like kissing fire, it was like kissing ice. It was like kissing the kind sunlight of spring, or the cool dancing raindrops. It was like listening to a piece of music that has you enraptured yet is missing one part, and suddenly listening to the entire orchestra without any missing pieces or parts—the entire work in its entirety, its perfection, even if a clarinet squeaks or a violin misses a note. _Joy. Rightness. _Despite the awkwardness of their first kiss, of where to put noses and who would tilt their head which way and whether to go further than a simple touching of lips—despite all the worried thoughts racing through his head, the simple joy of it—of Anna—made it the best kiss he had ever experienced.

And when they'd resolved the issues at hand of technique and time, and finally separated, breathless with the budding bliss, Sirius slipped his arms around the girl—_his _girl—and murmured for her ears alone, "I love April."

**Author's Notes:**

_This chapter's title, "April is in my Mistress' Face," is the name of an English madrigal, a type of vocal song popular during the 16th century. The rest of the song lyrics (three more lines) are not very applicable, but I seized on the idea of the month of April being represented by Anna's youth (April being spring) as well as the color of her eyes, as Sirius compares it to the sky during April. _


	14. Covalent Bonds

**Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is…well, suffice to say it wasn't under the tree or in my stocking this year. There's always next year, yeah? **

April finally departed reluctantly to allow exuberant May in with all her rosy, blushing petals and garbed in soft new green. The entire school brightened, until the hallways that had, just days ago in April been dreary and grey-faced, now rang and resounded with shouts, mirth, and pounding, excited feet (usually followed by a teacher's bellowing and taking points off some House or other for running in the corridor).

Sirius spent May in a walking haze of euphoria, as if he was on a permanent high, but better. (_And yes, he had experimented with addicting potions like the Navitas Upper, and been unable to sleep for three days, such a bundle of hyper energy he'd been. James swore that he would never let Sirius touch any sort of drug in his life again, himself exhausted from trying to keep Sirius from getting expelled or killing himself by mistake). _But the natural high from Anna's very presence—or even just the thought of her—was much better than any drug-induced fantasy or emotion, and soon only Peter still patiently sat through Sirius' "Well my girlfriend Anna says…" and "Anna and I…" phrases.

It was a good thing too, Sirius contemplated in hindsight, that he'd had that May to cling to later on. Because June was a rude interruption from real life to the lovers.

It all began with Snape.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Oy! Snape! Some man wants to see you in the Headmaster's office!"

The robust boy, a fourth year Ravenclaw who had proven that the old adage "brawn without brains" was untrue in certain cases, hollered at the darkly clad Snape, some distance away. It was a Saturday, one in which everyone was either frantically cramming for exams in their rooms or frantically cramming for their exams in the library. Sirius himself was just going to meet Anna for a study session in her room—_"It's quieter," _she informed him tartly when he gave her a lascivious smirk upon her invitation to her room. _"I will not entertain _any _distractions, Sirius Black. _None."

Sirius watched curiously as Snape, diverted from his original destination by the Ravenclaw, nodded his thanks curtly to said messenger and turned, heading towards Headmaster Dumbledore's office instead. _Just who is it? Lucius Malfoy, maybe? Or one of those Purebloods? _Eaten with interest, Sirius watched until Snape disappeared from view and then slowly made his way to Anna's room, pondering just who Snape's mysterious visitor could be.

"Hey, handsome," Anna greeted him cheerfully, stepping outside her doorway to lightly peck him on the lips. He buried his hands in her hair, tilting her head back further to deepen the kiss. A warm moment later, both emerged, flushing, and Sirius thought he'd never seen anything prettier than Anna's pink blush staining her cheeks as she hastily raked a hand through her thick hair, attempting to straighten it after Sirius had so carelessly messed it.

"Hey, gorgeous. How has studying been going?"

She groaned in answer. "I don't understand how you can stand there and ask that with a smile, Sirius, especially since _you're _the one with the exams that really count—I'm not even taking my NEWTs this year and I'm practically hyperventilating every time I think about what I have to know. Madame Pomfrey's been keeping a closer watch on me. She's sure that I'm going to overwork myself and slide right back into another stress episode."

"Pomfrey's just being careful, just like you ought to be of yourself," Sirius scolded gently, tapping her on her nose as they entered her room, leaving the door open as required by the school rules.

"I know," she sighed. "I know. It's just really getting on my nerves. I'm not made of porcelain!" Sirius kept silent, knowing from experience that it was better to just let Anna speak whatever was on her mind rather than interrupt.

"I had the nightmare last night," she confessed, voice lowering. "It was awful—I kept seeing my father falling, the instant before his head hit the floor. He wasn't dead then, he just keeps looking at me at bleeding everywhere, and his eyes were so accusing, asking me why I won't do anything!" The nightmare was a dramatized version of her memory. Sirius reached out and silently took her hand, ignoring the confused past and present tense of the memory and nightmare.

"They're getting better, though," she said with false cheer. "Only twice a week now, instead of every night."

"That's good," Sirius murmured, not letting go of her sweating palm.

After a tense silence, she asked in an overly-bright tone, "So, you ready to go over Charms theory?"

Two hours later, both professed an inability to study one more thing. Anna proposed a break, and Sirius jumped at the chance to get away from his books. "I'm going to the bathroom real quick," he told her, jumping off the floor where they'd been sprawled over their books and notes.

"Sure," she answered absently, having lain back on her back and closed her eyes. He left her, and hurried to the bathroom. On his way back, he encountered Snape, who was walking with a short, Italian-looking man and discussing something in low, structured voices. Both stopped immediately when they noticed him approaching. Sirius eyed the man, realizing that this must be who had been waiting to meet Snape earlier. The man stared right back with no sign of anything but polite interest, and beside him, Snape had on his neutral, most blank face. Just as Sirius drew up next to them to pass them, a faint and muffled scream had them all spinning to look for the source.

Sirius didn't need to look around to know, as the Blood Oath roared into being and _shrieked _in his joints and bones. Bursting immediately into a desperate sprint, he navigated the rest of his way back to Anna's room, calling her name in wild fear. The dread curled tightly like a coiled basilisk, fangs threatening to bury itself in his throat. _"Anna! Anna!" _Breathless, Sirius was only peripherally aware of Snape and the odd stranger in his purview over his own thumping heartbeat and anguished cry as he skidded to a stop in front of Anna's empty room, the door wrenched open already by someone and the contents of the place in a disarray. A small fire was slowly gathering speed and strength as it ate its way along the scattered notes and parchment on the floor.

"Where is she?" Sirius demanded, unaware of anything but the empty room and the absence of the girl whom he would give his life to protect. "Where's Anna? We have to find her!"

Dimly, his body must have realized its own mind's inability to direct anything as it began hyperventilating and shaking, for it yielded to the insistent guiding of someone's hand on his shoulder, away from the awful sight of the merry fire, away from the desolation where his heart had been shredded to pieces, away from where Anna had been attacked.

"Black. _Black." _He came to slowly, his senses seeping in tiny doses back to him, drawing a picture bleaker than he had ever thought possible. But the voice wouldn't leave him alone, and he painfully turned his head—when had he sat down?—to the source. Snape's fathomless eyes gazed back at him calmly. "Your friends are here and are worried for you," he said. Sirius clumsily followed Snape's flickered glance to where James, Lily, Remus, and Peter stood clustered together, faces strained with worry. "They'll do you more good than I will here," Snape informed the boy, getting up and squeezing his shoulder slightly before removing his hand. But before he could turn and leave, Sirius' whisper halted him.

"Wait. Please." Snape lifted an eyebrow questioningly, although it lacked the usual sarcasm. Struggling to form and spit out the words, Sirius said haltingly, "Anna. You have to help me find her. Please. You're the only one that knows…"

A tiny line creased Snape's forehead before it smoothed out to a blank lake again. "You know I can do no less, Black. I expect you to regain all your usual mental facilities—whatever little you possess in the first place—and make yourself useful assisting me in my search. I have some ideas. Ask the Headmaster to take you to the Room of Requirement when you are ready to work." Snape swirled, abruptly leaving the rest of them as he stalked past the Gryffindors without giving them a second glance although James shot him a glare and Lily's gaze lingered a little on the doorway he had departed from, brooding and unreadable.

Immediately after he had left, James pounced on Sirius and the rest poured around him to surround Sirius. "Mate, are you okay? You look like hell."

"Be nice, James," Lily reprimanded.

"He does though. Padfoot, she'll be okay. Dumbledore's marshalling all his forces to find her. You know he's the most powerful wizard in a century. He'll find her."

Sirius tried to smile, and failed. "Thanks, guys," he muttered, knowing that even the reassurances of his best friends and the support of the Headmaster wasn't enough to quell his guilt, terror, and certain knowledge of what Anna must be going through right now. _Oh, Anna…_looking up, Sirius unexpectedly caught the eye of Peter. The mousy boy held his gaze for a moment and there was some sort of sick, fearful understanding in their depths. Sirius remembered that Peter, of all of his friends, might come the closest to comprehending the situation Anna was in, for he had seen just what the Purebloods were capable of two summers ago. They locked eye for a brief second, and then Peter was looking away, down at his feet, and Sirius knew that his friend didn't hold out much hope for Anna surviving at all despite what he might say. Beside Peter, James, Lily, and Remus all blazed with conviction and determination, secure in their trust in a just world where Albus Dumbledore could do anything and the good guys always prevailed.

Suddenly exhausted and sick of the company of even his closest friends, Sirius closed his eyes. "Look, you guys, I'm not going to be able to rest until she's back safe, so can you just take me to Dumbledore?"

They tried to persuade him to rest—apparently, Snape had led him all the way back to his dorm, and Sirius wondered just how his sometime enemy and erstwhile ally had convinced his way into the Common Room and not gotten hexed besides.

"You really sure?" Remus finally asked seriously.

"I need this," Sirius said hoarsely.

A brief pause after his answer was interrupted by Remus turning to the others. "James, go get Headmaster Dumbledore, please."

Some grumbling, but no one openly protested or disobeyed Remus when he employed that stern, no argument tone. Lily accompanied James, and Peter and Remus sat in supportive silence with Sirius as they waited for the Headmaster, who arrived roughly ten minutes later, Lily and James trailing behind him. "Mister Black," Albus Dumbledore greeted Sirius somberly. "We're doing everything we can to locate and rescue Miss Nott, let me assure you. We've already determined that it was most likely Evan Rosier who took her, since he's also missing, and that he had a struggle to overpower and kidnap her, using a Portkey to escape the premises. Miss Nott put up a valiant and almost successful defense, but was unable to break Mister Rosier's hold in time to escape the Portkey."

Swallowing at the confirmation of what he already suspected, Sirius blinked—those were _not _tears that he felt pricking in the corner of his eyes—and cleared his throat. "Sir, I need to help. Please. Take me to the Room of Requirement."

In the ensuing hush, Sirius felt as if his entire state was being assessed very thoroughly by the man. He lifted his chin up defiantly and stood fast. Finally, Headmaster Dumbledore sighed, and went from immensely powerful wizard to the venerable and adored Headmaster of Hogwarts again. "Very well, Mister Black. If you are certain of what you wish, then I shall guide you to where you need to be. Your friends, however, must stay here. What is taking place in the Room of Requirement is highly dangerous, top secret, and it is only by virtue that you attended a Summer Gathering at the Malfoys' last summer and survived, as well as your undeniable bond to the young Miss Nott, that I am allowing you to take part in this."

Sirius left his completely confused friends in the dormitory, the old Headmaster promising genially to come back and tell them all he could of what was happening and how it was going. Sirius felt a twinge of guilt, abandoning his friends without a word of explanation and turning not to them for comfort but to some unknown work in attempting to locate and rescue Anna, but he brushed it off. _They can't comprehend at all, except maybe Peter, just how bad the situation is. I don't think I could bear spending my time with them when they are either so sure of her rescue or of her death, and being useless and helpless. They'll have to understand that I love Anna, and that I need to do this for—_

Sirius nearly stumbled over his own feet. _Love? _

Numbly, he continued to hurry after Dumbledore, his mind seized up with a new terror. _Love? I love her? _But as he examined his own feelings—saw Anna's beautiful, expressive face and heard her murmur something sarcastic or tell him off bitingly or laugh merrily over something she found funny, or cling to him after one of her episodes, trembling and crying, Sirius could not refute what his own unconscious mind had accepted from his heart even before his brain had informed him. He loved Anna.

_Wonderful time to be discovering this, isn't it, _he berated himself, anxiety for Anna fueling anger at the world and at himself. _You're a pathetic, hopeless fool and dimwit, Black. _Preoccupied with this, Sirius started back as a door appeared in front of the blank wall they had been walking along. Dumbledore opened it calmly as if doors popped into existence every day. "Mister Barraio, Mister Snape, I've brought you one more worker."

"Who—oh, Black. Well, don't just stand there," snapped Snape from his position chopping some stringy plant efficiently at a table covered with odd-looking potions ingredients and jars. The Italian man who had been with Snape earlier was there too, across the room from Snape, muttering intently to himself as he leafed through pages from at least six different texts around him as well as occasionally scribbling something in chalk on the wide blackboard near him, or erasing something to madly replace it with something else. The man didn't even glance up at Dumbledore or Sirius, merely grunted in acknowledgement.

"No one else, Headmaster," Snape said in a half-polite, half-ordering tone. "We can't afford the distraction or the risk."

"No, of course not," Dumbledore assured Snape. "I do hope you know what you are doing, Mister Snape…"

"I've been working on this for two years, Headmaster, and I have significant personal interest in seeing that it works and works well," Snape answered in a tone just short of being disrespectful. "For almost four months, Master Luigi and I have been corresponding by owl in collaboration of this project, and he is one of the most respected Potions Masters in Europe. I understand your apprehensions, but rest assured that we _will _succeed. Your task is just to pinpoint Miss Nott's whereabouts and keep everyone from accessing this room. I would not want to kill the entire school because some doltish cretin wandered in at a crucial moment."

"Of course not, Mister Snape," Dumbledore replied, and Sirius became aware of the fact that the Headmaster was slightly uncomfortable in dealing with the snappish, arrogant attitude of the boy—who looked every inch the professionally trained Potions Master, despite not having had any apprenticeship yet or certification. This dark, confident, outspoken adult certainly was not the sullen, quiet boy that the Headmaster was accustomed to seeing at school. Sirius stifled the urge to laugh at Dumbledore's expense. Clearly, the man had never seen Snape during Summer Gatherings and had not accounted for the young man's forbidding intelligence and skill although he had clearly taken into account his liability as one of the "corrupt youth" too close to the Dark arts for anyone's good.

"Now, perhaps if you would be as kind as to leave Black with us? Master Luigi does not like to be disturbed during work, and every second that passes is another less to find the solution to our problem," Snape apprised Headmaster Dumbledore civilly, the deferential tone ironic to Sirius' cynical ears. It appeared as if Dumbledore caught the slightly mocking, rude edge as well, for a hint of hard steel entered the normally gentle blue eyes.

"Of course, Mister Snape. My apologies for the disturbance. I shall inform you when we get a fix on Miss Nott's location," he said a trifle coldly before ushering Sirius into the sparse room and closing the door behind him, leaving Sirius alone in the Room of Requirement with Snape and Mister Barraio.

After a slight hesitation, Sirius walked over to Snape's table. "What are we doing?"

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but a voice across the room interrupted him. "So, you're Black, are you? Severus tells me you're mostly rubbish at potions, but well enough with Dark magic and understand the basic theory of mind magic. I hope he hasn't overestimated you, boy, because if he has you might end up killing us all or driving us permanently insane at the very least. We're trying to create a one-of-a-kind potion here, boy, a potion that will do what even an experienced Legilimens cannot—completely remove a memory from a person."

Confused, Sirius turned to the reedy-looking Barraio. "I don't understand, Sir. Isn't that what _Obliviate_ does?"

Snape winced, and Barraio shunted a fierce glare at both boys. "I thought you said this boy was acquainted with mind magic, Severus."

"He _was. _Apparently, his brain cannot house the information for the space of a year."

"Hey!"

"Don't argue, boy. Your question was completely deserving of any kind of comment my apprentice has. That was particularly idiotic. _Think, _Black! Snape says you have aspirations of being an Auror—there's a whole division of them that are specialists in assisting memory-recall in victims of mind magic like that. That means that _Obliviate _and every other manipulation of the mind is just that—a manipulation, to cover up or tamper with a memory. No one has been able to successfully completely remove a memory from a person's mind, only obscure it. What we're attempting ought to be impossible."

Impatiently, Sirius walked over to Barraio. "That's all very well and good, but just _what _is this to do with Anna and helping her?"

Barraio shot a pained glance over at Snape—_he's taking Snape as apprentice, he must be the Potions Master that Anna's father promised to speak to for Snape—_and his dark-haired compatriot jumped in with a slightly derisive tenor. "If you wish to leave and join the generic team searching for Anna, by all means, leave and find the Headmaster," he said. "But I pose you this question—what exactly will you do when you find her? Storm whatever fortress Rosier has her shut up in? Attack what will probably be a stronghold of the Dark Lord? And just how long do you think the Dark Lord or Rosier will keep her alive or intact if they know you are within their stronghold? Think, Black. Anna was not taken just because she was defiant of the Pureblood cause and her own family stance in politics. Your mother still has not issued a permission for your death, and indeed demands that all effort be taken to keep you alive even if you are on the other side of a battlefield—and take my word for it, Black, there _will _be numerous battlefields in the days to come and I know that by your very nature, you will be in the thick of the fighting. It is an ingenious strategy of the Dark Lord, one could say, two birds with one stone if you will, to take the girl who has defied him as well as being the perfect lure to the prodigal son. If you go in there like a knight in bloody shining armor, they'll kill her in front of you and then expend all their resources to turn you Dark and join them. You'll never see light of day again until you sell your soul to the devil and your arm to the Dark Lord."

"Well said, boy," Barraio uttered quietly. Sirius was speechless and the energy drained out of him in despair.

Snape seemed to glow briefly with the compliment paid to him, but then turned his focus and attention back to Sirius. "Master Luigi and I have been working on a way to neutralize Rosier for the past few months now, a modification on a theorized potion that I had been trying to create for the past two years. Rosier is a menace—personally. If I want to leave England and choose my own future, I have to get rid of Rosier's hold on me. The memory erasing potion, if we can pull it off, will theoretically destroy completely the projected specific neural synapses—the mental pathways—that lead to and from the memory of the information he holds over me, as well as the ones that hold any knowledge of us arriving at his doorstep and rescuing Anna."

_Oh. _Hope stuck a tiny tendril out in his heart, and Sirius dragged himself out of the lethargic despair. "Then with this potion…"

"With the potion, we should be able to contact Rosier under some pretense, get ourselves invited to where Anna is being held, and have you take her back to safety while I make sure he never remembers what happened," Snape confirmed. "The potion doesn't exactly destroy the memories or information retained—what it does is break down and dissolve the road that our mind takes in accessing each specific memory so that Rosier will never be able to recover the memories that were connected to the end of the pathway. Thus, those memories and the knowledge connected to those pathways will be utterly lost within his own mind and he will be unable to retrieve it. Nor will another be able to find it for him, for the human mind—even for a Legilimens—is a difficult and naturally chaotic space. A mind magic worker uses the mind's owner to guide them in their navigation, but without the pathways there, Rosier's mind will not be able to find those memories or guide another to them. Or that is the theory anyway." Snape waved his arm at Luigi Barraio, who had gone back to his chalk computations and books. "Master Luigi is working on the actual quota to quota ratio of ingredients for the potion. We'd already figured out the ingredients for it, and you can take over preparing them." He handed Sirius a knife and half-bowed the boy to the overloaded table. "The list of ingredients is on that parchment there, and since we don't quite know actual amounts yet, just make the suggested amount on the list—they're educated estimates."

"What will _you _be doing?" Sirius asked, half-disgruntled and half-resigned.

Snape smiled, a toothy, razor-sharp phenomenon that would have frightened just about anyone and proved that the normally sarcastic and sullen boy had an even scarier side to him. "I'll be doing the hardest part, Black. I'll be working on making sure that the potion targets the right neural synapses and _obliterates _them utterly without hope of reconstruction or repair."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

It was tense, unforgiving work. His neck ached, his arms and fingers tingled angrily at him, and his knees were wobbly from being in a rigid, locked position for so long. His magic sputtered angrily at him, the blackened spots of his aura flowing with the rest of him as he swirled it, shaping it into a tool, a lightning-bolt of vast and utter destruction. Others would have been paralyzed with terror, horror, or both. This was bordering on the edge of unforgivably Dark, on the cliff top next to the sheer drop of true, cold, premeditated murder. Severus knew that the plunge would be easy, oh so very easy to take. He'd taken it already once, last year—watched as he killed his own father and plummeted into the craggy valley.

He couldn't risk it. To give in would be disastrous. At the very least, it would only wipe the mental functions of himself, Master Luigi, Black, and Rosier, leaving them drooling babes all but for physical age. At the very worst…Severus shuddered. It could be a toxic apocalypse for anyone even remotely connected to Severus. The entirety of Hogwarts—the majority of Purebloods—the many impersonal Ministry officials who had done nothing for young Severus—the Muggle neighbors who had ostracized him—_everyone, _would all have their entire minds collapsing on them as the weapon he was forming of his own magic and of the potion slowly forming in each ingredient and each slow swirl of Master Barraio's calculations and stirring rod exploded without direction, without purpose, without any order but to _destroy. _

No, it would not do at all. It was why Dumbledore had been so reluctant to allow them to attempt the potion, for he guessed the ramifications and hadn't trusted Severus with such a sensitive, terrifying experiment. But Master Luigi trusted him. Master Luigi had fought for him, had defended Severus' ability and control over Dumbledore's doubt and prejudice, and as Severus remembered the old Potion Master's cool arguments and complete assurance in him, he knew that he would not fail, would not lose control and fall or jump off that cliff face. Not when at least one person trusted him.

Or perhaps two—for Black, despite knowing the danger of the potion that was slowly creating itself in the maelstrom of his magic, was still here, frowning in concentration as he quartered rats' hearts. _For self-defense and for ruthless tracking down of what it wishes to find, _Severus thought absently. Perhaps the boy was only here out of his great fear for his girlfriend—and Severus had no doubt that it was what had set Black to work with minimal protestation. But surely that he worked without giving Severus nervous side-glances was some indication that he was not doubting Severus' ability to control himself?

Returning to his own focused meditation, Severus peeked into the iron-cast cauldron that had been only simmering the neutral base when Black had arrived six hours earlier. In the course of Severus' forcing his magic to unnaturally move and shape to his will, the base had changed color from a silvery hue to a misty grey. Now, as Master Luigi indicated to Severus, with his own signals, that the potion was ready to be properly brewed, Severus exhaled and held his hands out towards the cauldron, concentrating on gathering all his magic to aim directly for Rosier and only Rosier. If he was successful, the potion would work only if drunk by Evan Rosier and no one else.

Master Luigi slipped into the fluid, precise motions of a practiced Potions Master and Severus took a detached moment to admire the man's obvious abilities. He would enjoy working with such a Potions Master…

Methodically, almost as if in a dance, the ingredients in the right proportions entered the base.

_6 diced rat hearts_

_ 1 tsp freshly ground catnip_

_ 2 ounces loosely shredded elm bark_

_ 1 ½ thinly sliced Mandrake roots_

_ 3 new petals of Vervain flower_

_ 1 ounce crushed wormwood_

_ ¼ lynx eyeball_

_ 1 tbsp foxglove liquid extract_

_ 2 feathers from a pure black owl_

Ingredients for seeking out the pathways to the specific memories, ingredients for poisoning and dissolving the neural connections and networks in the braid, ingredients for ensuring that they could not be regenerated or rebuilt again, ingredients to bind the potion together, combined with the rhythmical techniques of stirring and simmering, as the heat intensified and the potion began to give off an eerie green glow, turning cloudy in the cauldron. Severus watched it all as Master Luigi did the physical part of putting together the ingredients and Black hurried to line up each in order to hand to the Potions Master when he needed it. All the while, as each ingredient rebelled with the other and fought to remain individual, Severus edged up the fierceness of the fire beneath the cauldron and absorbed himself in excruciatingly binding each fundamental atom of each ingredient to the next, blending the potion into a harmonious spell in liquid form with his own magic, leaving traces and bits and pieces of his own magic in the potion itself.

He didn't know how long had passed, but theoretically it should have been thirteen hours since they had begun brewing the base, twelve since Black had arrived, when the catalyst was ready to be added.

It would be the moment of truth—whether the potion had indeed been thoroughly bound together, or would explode and incapacitate half the Wizarding world. The final major ingredient for the potion was oil of vitriol, three drops of it. It was a common catalyst in potions-making.

Master Luigi tipped the vial—Black, not completely unaware of the common effects of oil of vitriol (he must have actually paid attention during that lesson in Potions, then) stepped backwards a couple paces warily. And Severus inhaled, his chest searing with effort as he threw himself into _grasping _the liquid and _melding, shaping, shifting—_

Three drops hit the surface of the brew, directly center. The effect was instantaneous. Severus dimly aware that he was on his hands and knees, staring at the ground as he bit back screams of agony as his entire body threatened to come apart, as if he were the earth during an earthquake, slow, lazy ripples shaking him and flinging him around by the neck as he burned and burned, _oh heat that rained down on his back as blood erupted and flowed from—somewhere, and the world turned red—_

"Severus! Black, help him," a barked voice came from somewhere beyond the edges of the menacing red haze.

"What? But—"

"_Il porco Santo Spirito__!_ _Maledizione!_ I can't stop stirring the dragon-poxxed, thrice-curst potion! I have no hands to help Severus, and if you don't help him he'll mind-blast us all to Merlin's bedchamber and back!"

If the pressing fog hadn't been suffocating him, forcing him to drink the blood that poured down his throat, burned in his belly, Severus would have admired the inventive language—indeed, the Italian-English stream of curses that Master Luigi commanded was impressive. But the metallic salty tang of the dark, dark blood was flooding his mouth, choking him, drowning him, and he was only able to splutter silently, the tidal waves separating each atom of his body from the other, breaking the most intrinsic bonds that held him together in life.

_"Snape! _Snap out of it! Come on, Snape, it can't be that bad, I bet you're just faking it to scare us, come on, Snape, if you die I'll never forgive you except that I'll probably be dead or insane myself. You can't do this Snape, where's all that vaunted self-control you said you possessed? Aren't you a Master Legilimens?"

A tiny pricking of irritation shone an air bubble down his throat, just a brief space of breath without blood. Severus gasped in surprise before another wave filled his lungs and he saw the face of nameless victims sacrificed in the name of blood and protection. _Why? Why? You. You did this. You know us…you…_the pallid faces whispered, crowding around him and reaching out with horribly burnt, blackened arms, fingers crumbling into stumps and ash, grasping for him…he whimpered and shrank back from their horrific parody of a lover's embrace, and yelped as something like metal visors clamped down on his shoulders.

_Shoulders…he had shoulders. Solid, real shoulders, connected to a corporeal body that was still being held together at the atomic level by chemical bonds and the mysteries of something more magical than magic itself. He had hands, with which to ward off the encroaching vengeful ghosts. He had legs to stand his ground on. He had a brain to will the red fog and fire away, banishing the pitiful, disgusting, nightmarish ghouls with it. He had control over himself. He had lungs, lungs that was empty and which he could fill with clean, sweet air and not blood. There was no blood in his mouth except for where he had bit down on his own tongue so hard it had drawn the sharp tang of it. _Feeling himself solidify, pull together and _hold _against the destructive quake-waves that tried to fling him off his feet again and rip through the structure of his mind and body and magic, Severus began to fill in each part of his body into reality again as if he was a child coloring in a picture, all of his awareness of his physical self radiating from that firm grasp of—someone's hands, it had to be—on his shoulders, fingers gripping into his flesh to draw him back to reality.

And then the child had colored in the entirety of his body, and his mind cautiously settled back in place within it, searching for any hint of red or fire to banish in an instant, and Severus, sensing the aura and network of his natural magic, saw that his very magical self was bound up in something that was glowing faintly purple-rust in his sight, several feet away, even now receding from the seething, burning, roiling sea it had been to a gently hissing, acidic, concentrated entity.

The potion. He was bound to the potion now, his entire magical being wrapped up in it. He would be unable to do anything to affect the way the strings of the net ran around each other and joined and melded in unexpected places until the potion was taken and his intent carried out within it. But the potion was complete, and it would work. Sighing softly, Severus opened his eyes.

**Author's Notes:**

_This chapter title, "Covalent Bonds," refers to the chemical bond that is formed between a set of atoms to form a molecule. Plenty of covalent bonds in the complex potion Severus Snape was brewing, I'd say…_

_My Italian is gleaned from various websites and online translators. Please forgive any errors. _

_To those of my readers who celebrate, I hope that you had a wonderful Christmas. _


	15. Remember the Sun

**Disclaimer: Apart from making JKR my Horcrux, it is impossible for me to own HP & co.**

"We will _not _be attempting anything like this during your formal apprenticeship," Barraio said snappishly as they Levitated Snape's prone, exhausted body into the hospital bed. Pomfrey was already bustling around in a hive of activity, muttering softly to herself as she took readings, measured out vials of potions, and made Snape down them one after another.

"It worked," Snape pointed out in a voice so soft he could barely be heard, but still managing to convey a certain amount of arrogance with it. Bewildered, Sirius could only shake his head as Barraio launched into a half-Italian, half-English litany of the woes of Potions Masters with an idiot risk-taking fool for an apprentice who hadn't even signed the formal contract activating the apprenticeship yet. _He's basically accusing Snape of a Gryffindor trait. _Snape caught Sirius' wide grin as weak as he was, and seemed to know what it was for because he grimaced at him slightly.

Finally, as Barraio wound down, running out of epithets for stupid young boys who didn't listen to their Masters, Snape mouthed some words.

"What's that?" Barraio leaned closer.

"The potion. You have to decant it in full sunlight. Bring…bring to me after. I need…it's connected…" Snape began coughing violently, and Madame Pomfrey immediately pounced.

"Out! Out, all of you—the boy needs complete bed rest, he's completely exhausted his physical and mental states and his magic is bound up in some queer amalgam with something else." Pomfrey motioned impatiently with her hands, herding Sirius and Barraio out of the hospital wing with all the practiced efficiency of her station. Once outside, Sirius had to break into a trot to keep up with the older man.

"What are we doing now?"

"Decanting the potion, of course," came the growled reply. "We shouldn't have left it in the first place, could get destroyed even at this stage." Yanking open the door to the Room of Requirement in a sharp jerk, the skinny Potions Master hastened to the cauldron that still sat over a small fire, set to keep the potion heated to the right temperature. "Get me that clean bottle with the silver top."

Sirius looked around to the general vicinity of where Barraio had flung an outstretched hand in a vague gesture. It took him a puzzled moment, but then he spotted with some relief the small glint of light on glass refracting—that wasn't glass that the tiny bottle, barely a fingertip large, was made from. _It looks too thick and glittery. _Cautiously picking it up between his thumb and forefinger to bring it to the level of his eyes, Sirius sucked in an involuntary breath and then spluttering as his eyes watered from having choked on too much air at once. _It's diamond! _

He didn't realize he'd spoken his revelation out loud until Barraio answered him. "No, lad, not quite. You'd better brush up on your gemstones before you go proposing to the girl of your heart, she'd be mighty unhappy if you came back with a ring of crystal instead of diamond. That's the best quality water crystal, Black. Very expensive to come by, and very useful for extremely sensitive potions. It's tradition in my country for every Potions Master to give one crystal test tube to his apprentice when the apprentice earns his certificate of Mastery. Many, many potions are first distilled and ladled into a crystal test tube, which is then decanted into the ordinary glass vials. The middle stage allows for the crystal to tune the potion to its greatest strengths and purpose and imbue it with natural energy aligned to the human."

Marveling at the intricacies of the trade—_how can Snape _want _to learn all these things?—_Sirius passed the crystal bottle to Barraio, peering into the cauldron with some surprise as he did so. The potion, which had, in its brewing stage, been at least halfway up the curved black iron-cast sides, was now barely lapping up the sides at all. As Barraio, with a delicacy Sirius had before only seen one person possess in brewing potions—Snape—ladled out the liquid, Sirius could see that the consistency of the potion as well as its color and amount had changed too. Before, it had been only slightly thicker than running water and green in color. Now the potion, which had taken on a hue of a starless sky in December, was thick, almost syrupy although smooth-flowing as it poured in one even stream from the ladle back into the cauldron again.

"Black, go outside and imagine us some sunlight."

"_What?" _

"Go make some sunshine, you bumbling idiot! You heard Severus as well as I! Or must I add deafness to your list of incompetencies?"

"Just how am I supposed to _make _sunshine?" Sirius asked incredulously.

"You don't…" Barraio caught himself, breathing out slowly, and when he spoke again the annoyance was (mostly) gone. "You don't know how to work the Room of Requirement, do you?"

"No, not really," Sirius admitted sheepishly. _So that's what it's called. The Room of Requirement—what an odd name!_

"If you walk past the wall outside three times, thinking of what you need, the door should appear with what you need in it. You have to be specific for this one, though—nothing, absolutely nothing, can change except for sunlight, real sunlight, appearing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think so." _That is so cool. How did us Marauders never find out about this place in all our years at Hogwarts? I'll have to come back and explore, and show Anna—_Sirius' mood dropped as he suddenly remembered that Anna was in an unknown location in an unknown state of health and mind. _Oh, Anna, I'm doing the best I can to get to you. Please hold on. _Hurrying outside the room, Sirius closed the door and watched in fascination as it melted away from sight within ten seconds of closing it. Pacing up and down, his footsteps shuffled, Sirius thought as hard as he could, _I need the exact same room with everything exactly the same as when I just left, except for with lots of sunlight. I need the same room plus sunlight. I need the exact same room I just left, with sunlight…_

…and the glint of the handle alerted Sirius to the reappearance of the Room of Requirement. Hoping that he'd done everything right, he stepped within and his eyes instinctively slid shut. _Holy mother of Merlin, it's bright! _

"Can you see, boy?" A gruff voice coming somewhere from in front of him and to the right asked.

"No…not really." Sirius tried to peel one eyelid a crack open, only to slam it shut again quickly, stars and spots dancing in his vision. _Ouch. I think I have a headache. _

"Then how on God's green earth to do you expect me to be able to see to decant this potion?" the man exclaimed snappishly. "I said you had to be specific. Just how much sunshine did you ask for?"

"Uh…lots," Sirius replied weakly.

The silence told him that it had been a stupid idea. "Uh…would you like me to go out and change it again?"

_Snort. _

"I'll, uh, take that as a yes." Hurriedly, a tint of shame staining his cheeks (although he doubted Barraio would have been able to see, considering the amount of bright sun that occupied their vision), Sirius backed up, almost tripped over himself, and banged his elbow and funny bone painfully with a clack on the unseen doorway as he tried to get out without the use of his eyes.

The next time he entered, the sunlight had toned down to a tolerable level, a sort of filtered golden cascade slanting from the azure skies. The potions lab had stayed exactly the same, to his relief, except for one difference—to all appearances, they had been transported outside to a grassy field that looked suspiciously like the Quidditch Pitch without the audience stands.

"Come here, Black!" The gruff shout brought Sirius back to reality and what they were here for, and he hurried over to where Barraio was still slowly stirring at the cauldron. "Put on those gloves over there and grab that green-tinted flask right next to the jar of unopened newt eyes," he instructed as he removed a large beaker of plain glass off the table next to him. Sirius nervously did as he was told. _I hope he doesn't ask me to do something awfully hard. I'm no potions geek. _

"Do you have any hand-eye coordination at all?" demanded the Potions Mater.

"Uh…I think?"

"Play Quidditch?"

"Yeah, actually. I'm pretty good as a Beater," Sirius said, confused.

"Good. Same basic skills as your brain connecting to your arm and hand to bat to ball, except for much more subtle than swinging a club at a potentially lethal projectile." He beckoned Sirius to approach the cauldron. "I'll be decanting the potion into the beaker for the final step before bottling it. You'll need steady hands—you're going to be pouring that flask of unicorn's water in a steady flow, _no _emptying it out willy-nilly you hear?—at the same time as I ladle the potion into the beaker. Make sure that the unicorn's water is poured dead center of the beaker, a straight ninety-degree angle, and that it comes into contact with the potion _before _it hits the glass. Understand?"

"I—you're—you're _trusting _me with _that?" _Sirius questioned in an octave higher than his usual range.

"What does it _look _like I'm doing, boy?" Barraio snapped back harshly as he steadied himself and readied the beaker. "Well, get going! We don't have all day!"

Hurriedly, and with trembling fingers and a trail of sweat running down his back, Sirius took the top off the flask and moved closer, holding it above the beaker ready to pour. His fingers would have crushed a flask made of more fragile glass, but thankfully this one was made of thick, sturdy glass. Barraio, in one sweeping, unbroken motion, ladled out the potion from the cauldron, arcing his arm to bring the full ladle to the beaker and then it was falling, the liquid, and Sirius realized that he had to pour the unicorn water, and his tight grip tilted the flask he held, and he watched in awed fascination and not a little worry as the sunlight caught the clear water and sparkled, and then veritably glowed like the late sunset when it hit the potion and mingled together to run into the beaker…

"Stop pouring, Black!" The sharp pronouncement jolted Sirius into hastily righting the flask of unicorn water again, and in the next instant Barraio had moved and was slowly pouring the liquid in the beaker, which seemed a lot less than Sirius would have expected a ladle full of potion and at least two-thirds of a flask of unicorn water to combine to amount to, into the crystal vial. And it only seemed to grow less and less, until the crystal vial was completely full and the beaker was actually completely empty. Where had all the excess potion gone? Confused, Sirius glanced at the cauldron and had another shock when he realized that the cauldron, once still mostly full with the potion that had only been depleted by one ladleful, was now completely empty. Barraio couldn't have had Vanished the potion, so what had happened to it?

"It's a combination of the spell woven into the potion itself, as well as the unicorn water," Barraio commented as he firmly stoppered up the crystal vial and held it up triumphantly, as if he'd heard Sirius' thoughts.

"What…"

"The unicorn water purifies, and it simply got rid of anything that wasn't essential or was clogging up the potion's purpose, which made the amount of liquid much less. And often, if it is a complex potion involving spellwork as this one does, the intricacies and balance between the two magics will have the effect of boiling down to the essentials and getting rid of the rest, the excess. Hence, once the spell sensed its completion in this here potion—" the man tapped the crystal in satisfaction—"it wrapped up the rest of the ingredients in the cauldron and got rid of them into the ether to make sure that it couldn't be duplicated and ever have a conflicting purpose. The spell is tied to only one draught of the potion, not the entire batch. They still have not found a way to harness enough power to tie a spell to an entire batch of potions, only single draughts or doses," the Italian Potions Master instructed.

Sirius nodded dumbly. He'd just helped create a one-of-a-kind potion that was immensely powerful. He'd just helped create the first mind-boggling potion—_literally! _And it had been the brainchild of _Severus Snape, _no less—he'd helped create, actually brew, Snape's invented potion the first time it was ever made!

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"This is it," the Auror—Moody—said decisively, tapping a callused finger onto a small "X" marked over an empty patch of land in the middle of the wild places of Wales. "That's where your girl is."

"How certain are you?" Dumbledore asked, his blue eyes ice chips in the firelight. In the corner, Fawkes trilled softly but the Headmaster ignored his familiar.

"Ninety-nine percent sure," Moody replied. He gave a grim smile. "I pulled a lot of strings for you, and some of the magic I cast to find her isn't exactly Ministry-sanctioned Light magic. But everything is circling down to this place—there's probably a damn fortress out there to the Dark that we can't see. The harder we tried to specify location around there, the more we kept being deflected. Sound like a Fidelius to me. The Aurors will move on my say-so. What's the plan?"

Dumbledore glanced over at where the two teenaged boys and one old, skinny man in Italian-made robes sat. Snape had recovered enough to attend the meeting once he'd rested a bit and tucked the completed potion in a pocket in his robes, insisting on it although Barraio and Pomfrey had fussed and threatened. Now, he was leaning back wearily on the chair he was seated on, paler than normal, but his dark eyes were as alert as ever and his expression sharp. Sirius looked between Snape and Barraio, who remained silent but observant, and finally when it looked as if they were going to leave the talking to him, he swallowed and declared, "We have to come up with a plan to get Severus and me inside and alone with Rosier."

"And just what do you think you can do, boy?" The Auror questioned roughly, but not unkindly. "You're not even out of school, the both of you, and—" his gaze flicked to Snape almost imperceptibly.

Sirius bristled at the unspoken implications of Snape's trustworthiness and Dark connections. "Snape is just as trustworthy as I am," he fired angrily. "He's worked himself to a wraith to creating a brilliant potion that will save Anna if we can only get in the position to administer it. As for our experience—we've both experienced _much _more than you could ever imagine," he hissed, "and we're not some typical school-children easily killed. We'll be fine."

Snape was staring at him bemusedly. _Probably for my defense of him. Well, I'm not about to sit here and let some jumped-up Auror insinuate that I'm a naïve imbecile and he's traitorous scum. Even if that jumped-up Auror happens to be one of the top-ranked in the force. _It probably wasn't going to be doing a whole lot for his chances at being accepted by the Auror training program, but at this point Sirius could care less. Anna was out there, and Sirius had no doubt that he and Snape had the best chances of somehow getting her out unharmed.

"For what it's worth, I believe that both of these young men have seen and experienced far more than you give them credit for, Alastor," Dumbledore contributed. "Severus' potion is nothing short of genius, and it is our best hope at the moment."

"If that's what you think, Albus…"

"I do," the Headmaster affirmed, eyes steel as he regarded Moody. "Evan Rosier breached _my _school when he kidnapped young Miss Nott, and I am determined to throw every effort I can muster into rescuing the girl." For an instant, it was not Albus Dumbledore, genial headmaster who was before them. This man, with iron in his voice and sudden power crackling down his robes, was the man Sirius could imagine defeating Grindelwald. Unbidden, Sirius suddenly remembered the moment when Rosier and Snape had dueled, that dangerous glow of magics from both opponents as they had circled each other as two predators…and he was very glad that both Snape and Dumbledore were on his side right now.

"If the gentlemen have finished clacking, I have a proposal for how to get Rosier Jr. alone," Barriaio finally spoke, breaking the tense atmosphere with little regard for the obvious power that ran through the room from Dumbledore.

"Oh?"

"I do not like it." Here, the man turned to face Snape fully, and his eyes were both serious and unhappy. "It would involve you to a great extent, as I'm sure you can surmise. You are our best bait at the moment. I do not like it."

"But would it work?" Snape asked reasonably.

"I believe so."

"Then tell us."

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"You are a hard man to find, Rosier," Severus murmured into the two-way mirror.

The blond angelic face gazed back irritably at him. "What did you want, Snape? Surely you must know I'm busy."

"Busy with an inanimate and unconscious body? My, Rosier, you never struck me as a borderline necromantic—certainly, never in _my _experience," Severus all but purred, smirking lazily into the reflection of his nemesis and demon of his nightmares. Something sick curdled in his stomach, but nothing of his inner emotions so much as flickered on his surface. On the surface, he was all Slytherin, all Pureblood—for despite his blood, it had been the Purebloods who had taught him their game—and the Purebloods whom he would outsmart at their own politics. Severus took some grim pleasure from that, burying his disgust deeper within himself.

Rosier spluttered—there was no other word to describe his reaction. It was quite interesting, actually. Severus watched the boy from under hooded eyes as he recovered and lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow in a bland imitation of Snape himself. _I can do the expression so much better, caro, _he thought derisively, sneering at his last ironic term of endearment. _Or should I call you cara? You certainly care much more about looks than any male I know. Even more than Black! _

"Why Severus, what has brought on this…_mood? _Can it be my little pet is feeling jealous?" _Nice try. _Really, Rosier was slipping. Or perhaps Severus was simply better now than he had been just a few years ago.

"Jealous—perhaps of the visitation to the Dark Lord's fortress," Severus allowed, purposefully obtuse.

"Or of the pretty Anna Nott who has captivated my attentions? Don't be shy, my friend, I know I've been neglecting you shamefully in favor of successfully capturing the affections of Miss Nott here."

"Oh, the little brown mouse," Severus dismissed with a calculated flippancy to his sneer. "If I were to envy anyone, it would be her least of all. Certainly your…_attentions _are unwanted at best. In fact, I wonder that she is not repulsed by you even in her unconscious state." His voice turned just the slightest bitter. _Come here, kitty kitty kitty. Take my bait._

"Feisty and abrasive as ever, Severus. I never did like too much sweetness in bed partners," Rosier taunted, the minute creases in his fair complexion a sure sign of his enraged state. "What was your purpose in mirror-calling me then, if you wished to only insult me?" _Part one complete. He's interested and he was the one who asked. _Severus smiled coldly deep in the safe confines of his mind. When he spoke, it was at the height of neutral casualness.

"To tell you that Dumbledore and his little minions and the pathetic little dog called Black have located the so-called un-locatable fortress you are in and are, as we speak, on their way over to Wales with a full Auror force."

"_What?" _The mirror shuddered and steamed alarmingly in Severus' hand—Rosier was stunned, furious, and suddenly afraid, Severus could feel it through even the mirror. _Tsk tsk, Evan, you've already made your second mistake after being interested in my call. You've given in to emotion and let me see it. _ "I have no interest whatsoever in your wellbeing, Rosier as well you know, but this warning is favor-currying, both from you and from the Dark Lord," Severus continued impassively, slanting a hard glare at the image in the glass. This was it. Severus would not push further than this, could not without arousing suspicion. Slytherins did not offer favors out of the goodness of their heart, Severus to Rosier even less when Rosier knew the extent of Severus' hatred. Severus owed Rosier nothing. The information Rosier held over Severus was only good to a certain extent, at least as far as a true Slytherin was concerned. Push further than permitted, at least with Slytherins, and they would neutralize the blackmail information themselves, leaving you with no blackmail at all. Of course, Rosier did not know that Severus cared more than he should, as a 'Pureblood' Slytherin, for the lives of the only other family he had. Nor did he know that Severus had found a solution, at last, to neutralize the threat…

There was silence for a minute, then another few moments of emphatic swearing and blasting of unknown objects. Severus waited patiently until Rosier had calmed down enough to return to his handheld mirror and pick it up again. "Fine. What do you want in return for the information and for throwing the Aurors off the scent of this damn stone tomb?"

Inside, Severus was leaping with joy. _He took it! He took the bait! _Outside, he simply smiled, a very small cold smile.

"Your sworn magical oath to an unspecified favor," Severus replied, an iron quality to his tone. Black, fathomless pupils bored into Rosier's lighter eyes, which were lit with the furious anger of a cornered predator who thinks he can maneuver his way out of the corner by giving in for now. "Fine, damn you Snape, you'll have your unspecified favor," Rosier finally snapped. Now get your skinny ass to work! The Dark Lord's gone to France to prepare for the ritual that involves the Nott whore now that she's recovered enough from the Satan's Curse, and we're the only ones in here. How long do we have?"

"I'd say roughly thirty minutes, the Aurors will take some time mobilizing and then finding their way through the wards already on the castle. I'll need to come to the place in order to ward it the way Elphard taught me."

"You…you talked to the _gatekeeper?" _Rosier's voice was incredulous, and for the first time he showed just the slightest hint of fear. Severus raised an eyebrow.

"You don't know everything about me, Rosier, no matter what you think you hold over me. Elphard shared with me the secrets of his little _Death _cottage, and I know how to protect that fortress better than even our Dark Lord, if he will excuse my presumption. The address, Rosier? I don't have all day."

"The address you're looking for is Aberdyfi Castle, Mid Wales." Severus thought he detected a hint of respect in Rosier's voice as he directed the Fidelius-protected location to Severus, who wrote it down immediately. Respect, and the tiniest glimmer of—was it—lust? _Yes, it was definitely pure physical lust. _Rosier had that glint in his eye that meant that he was aroused. Severus felt sick, and triumphant as the mirror went dark and then showed him his own sallow face. _Anything to manipulate the devil—even if it means sex or the temptation of it. _He shoved the mirror into a pocket of his robes, and turned to rest of the group, who had been sitting in a darkened part of the room quietly. They'd insisted on staying, Dumbledore and the Auror most likely because they didn't trust him, Master Luigi because he was the man's _apprentice _and those mentor-pupil bonds were something Severus already knew his master took very seriously indeed, and Black because—well, Severus didn't presume to know why. Probably because it involved the fate of his girlfriend.

"Anyone up for a little trip to Aberdyfi Castle?"

**Author's Notes:**

_Please forgive me for the long wait for this chapter. RL reared its head and I have been frantically trying to catch up to it. However, I am excited and proud to announce that I have finally signed a contract and will be moving to yet another country this summer to begin my first real job! _

_This chapter's title, "Remember the Sun," references part of a line from the lyrics for Evanescence's song "Field of Innocence." The full lyrics depict a longing for the return of innocence and the childish belief in everything and ignorance of the real world. It's a nod at Sirius' attempts to imagine sunlight for the potion, as well as all those inferences and subtleties you, dear Reader, may make on your own about the need to remember the sun/light/goodness/hope for the characters here, both in their now and future. _

_Aberdyfi Castle is a real castle in mid Wales, although very little of it has survived the years. I, of course, am imagining that the 'real' Aberdyfi Castle was hidden to Muggle eyes with enchantments, making it seem as though the castle was destroyed when it remained standing. _


	16. Miserere Nobis

**Disclaimer: Property of JKR**

Sirius was thanking every star in the heavens at the moment that he had befriended James Potter and furthermore, fully participated in all number of suspicious activities during their seven years at Hogwarts, because the first gave him access to an Invisibility Cloak without so much as a murmur (except to wish him luck) and the second gave him the skills to follow Severus silent and invisible. The sneaking around practice he'd had at Summer Gathering probably helped too, and Sirius had to snort, mentally of course, at the irony of _anything _he'd learned at that disgusting Pureblood-priming gathering assisting him in going against Rosier.

Outside, strategically placed, was a team of hand-picked Aurors, all Disillusioned and in hiding. They surrounded the castle, grimly waiting. Waiting for Severus and Sirius to get Anna and give them the signal that would allow them to attack. Over their protests, both Barraio and Dumbledore were also outside. "We can't risk Rosier getting the slightest suspicion," Snape had pointed out with his impeccable cold logic. "Not without first gaining the upper hand, and trust me, Rosier will have never been more vigilant than when he first receives me. It is our nature, bred as selectively as any other virtue of the Pureblood bourgeoisie. The best would be for me to enter alone, but I suppose Black would simply charge in to find Nott, regardless of any plan."

Well-accustomed by now to Snape's sharp tongue, although Sirius would have laughed his ass off a year ago at the thought of brushing off any of Snape's comments or ignoring his insults, Sirius simply shrugged. "You won't be able to take on Rosier _and _rescue Anna," he reasoned. If he had not been entirely preoccupied with Anna, he might have laughed at the sour look Snape had given him. It was clear that Snape thought his chances of overcoming Rosier and rescuing Anna by himself were higher than with Sirius. Well, he would have to suffer. Sirius would not stay behind, not in Hogwarts and not outside the castle where Anna was. Besides, he had a convenient excuse other than the fact that Anna was his _friend _and he was no cold Slytherinish Pureblood aristocrat to think in terms of bargains and costs and benefits. He'd already sworn an oath to do all in his power to aid Anna, and that meant going along with Snape.

So it was that the two unlikely allies finally entered the forbidding Aberdyfi Castle unaccompanied. The Welsh fortress was just that—a fortress, built to withstand battle and siege centuries upon centuries ago, and it had none of the fancifulness of Hogwarts. Instead, it loomed dingy and forbidding on the lush wild green, and the gloom and damp within made Sirius wish he could have wished some of that excess sunshine in the Room of Requirement in _here, _where it might do wonders.

Or perhaps not. As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness of the indoors, Sirius noticed the grim stone walls and high, tiny, barred windows, not made any more cheering by the stiff, dark, and cracked-with-age furniture scattered haphazardly around the place. Several paces ahead of him, Snape glided through the hallways, a large room that seemed to serve as a sort of receiving room, another room that appeared to be for dining in, and took a narrow flight of stairs that had Sirius cursing mentally. The stairs made it that much harder to mount any sort of rescue and getaway…

Another trial, another worry to get through. No matter. They would succeed. They had to. Sirius didn't let himself think of any other option but getting Anna—and themselves, of course—out safe and sound. Ahead, Snape paused at the top of the dark, high-cut stairs. Sirius paused too, waiting for his classmate to continue on. Snape cut a fine figure in all black, silhouetted by the miserable dim light that filtered through a tiny barred window placed too high up for anyone, even a tall man, to reach. The fabric of the robes looked pliant and reasonably well-priced, not quite the standard of Malfoy but certainly not the ragged school robes or serviceable rough generic robes Snape had worn over the summer that Sirius remembered.

Then Snape swept forward once more, and Sirius hastily picked up his feet and made sure James' cloak was secure around every portion of himself. Gaining the top of the flight of stairs, he followed Snape's vanishing back into a doorway on his left. Snape had left the door standing open, thank Merlin—it wouldn't do for Rosier or anyone else to see a door opening by itself.

"Rosier." Snape sneered elegantly at the wizard, who was seated at a rather ugly stout oak table bent over a jar of something. Sirius felt a well of anger surge up within him the second he sighted Evan Rosier. The bastard didn't even look repentant, and there were vivid scratch marks painted all down his aristocratic face and arms. _Atta girl, Anna! _Sirius thought jubilantly. _Took a piece of him, did you? The gormless git deserves every ell of pain you can mete out to him, the bastard, for even daring to think about touching a hair on your head. _Sirius was tempted, oh so tempted, to curse Rosier to hell and back already, and the words of a dozen Dark spells were hot on his lips as the weight of his wand pressed into the skin of his fingers. But Snape had as good as bet that that would be _exactly _what Sirius would do the instant he saw Rosier, and Sirius would be damned if he would prove Snape right! _Not to mention it would blow our plan to pieces and most likely bring on more trouble than it's worth, _a tiny part of Sirius acknowledged. But the bigger part of him was more concerned with a different question. _Where is Anna? _

"Snape. Took you long enough," Rosier said sulkily, expression cross as he surveyed the other boy. _Well, the other visible boy in the room anyway. _Sirius crept to a corner of the room where he'd be relatively out of the way and still in good wand's aim of Rosier, allowing Snape's leisurely stroll forward to mask any noise he might have made. Thankfully, he did _not _trip, and settled himself into a more-or-less comfortable position in between wary and waiting, and then allowed himself to watch the drama that was unfolding before his eyes.

Snape was a good actor. Sirius had discovered this his first Pureblood etiquette lesson at Summer Gathering, and he recalled it now as he examined his one-time enemy and erstwhile ally approach Rosier casually, as if he were not plotting to force-feed Rosier a mind-altering potion soon.

"She fought," Snape observed coolly.

"The little bitch, she marred me!" Rosier's handsome face twisted in an ugly scowl.

"Ah, Rosier, you were always a vain little thing weren't you?" Snape laughed, and in a smooth, unconcerned move that left Sirius gaping, snatched the little squat brown jar from Rosier's hand. Almost carelessly, he held it to his large nose and took a tiny sniff. "This balm you're about to use isn't going to do you any good. It has gone far past its sell by date and the ill-made potion it _was _is now even less-useful congealed gunk. You most likely found this lying around somewhere here in the castle, correct?"

"Damn you, Snape, just do something about my scratches instead of nattering on at me like a professor," Rosier snarled.

Snape smiled coldly. "I must have become temporarily deaf, Rosier, since all I heard was the clacking of a windbag with manners no Pureblood would dare claim for the shame of dishonor."

A stormy pause, when the blond glared at the raven-haired gangly boy. "You're a slimy little guttersnipe with such grand pretensions, aren't you Snape? Fine—your way, this time. If it would please you, I request your aid in healing me."

Snape raised one eyebrow disdainfully. "Clearly, Madmoiselle Alodie has had a far lesser impact in her teaching of you than she might have hoped. I will let your pitiful excuse of a formal request for aid slide. For now."

Snape raised his dark, polished wand, only to be confronted with Rosier's own lighter-hued one. "I'm not about to have you pointing your wand at me any time, Snape. I know you walk around with an apothecary in your pocket," Rosier snarled. The insults to his manners and decorum as a Pureblood had clearly struck home, and Sirius almost wanted to shake his head at the follies of the aristocratic society of degenerates he had become far too intimately introduced to last summer. _Kidnap, kill, torture, dark spells—all in the name of superiority and Pureblood culture supremacy, all perfectly acceptable and civilized. Yet to breach one of those rulebooks on the elaborate dance of manners is considered brutish, and accusing another of not being up to snuff on all that etiquette one of the worst insults you can fling at them. Purebloods. _

"Such trust." Snape shook his head in mock regret, but lowered his wand—after a long, testing pause that had Rosier's eye twitching in fury at the deliberate message. "You could have simply healed yourself with your own wand, Rosier, instead of waiting on me to bring you a potion. Oh, but I forgot." Snape smirked. "You cannot actually performany healing spells."

"Shut up, Snape!" Rosier bellowed, the marks Anna had put on his face red and angry.

"I wouldn't treat my Healer in such an unmannerly fashion, Rosier. You were making an effort earlier, at least," Snape said mildly, and tossed a dark, glossy vial in Rosier's direction.

_It's not the mind boggle potion that we brewed. Surely Snape can't be giving Rosier an actual healing potion? _Sirius narrowed his eyes, nearly hissed through his teeth when, after an initial sniff, Rosier drank the potion and the scratches did, indeed, disappear as if they had never been. _What the hell, Snape? What kind of game are you playing? _

"It didn't work," Rosier whined. He shot out an arm, turned it over so that a raw and red jagged patch of flesh showed clear to both Snape and Sirius, on his wrist. "The bitch _bit _me, Snape!"

"That, I'm afraid, _isn't _covered in a general healing potion," Snape informed him in an almost swotty manner. "And since I do not habitually walk around with potions to heal bites, you'll have to survive, I'm afraid. I hope you washed it, though, human bites are easily infected and it _would _be a shame for you to lose your lovely arm to pus and gangrene."

Was it just Sirius, or was Rosier looking a little green? "I just used water," he admitted, looking at his arm as if expecting it to fall of right then and there.

"That should be fine for now," Snape said. "Now, where is the girl, Rosier? I didn't come all the way here to treat you for bites and scratches."

"What do you want with her? She's safe and stored away here, that's all you need to know. Just ward the damn place before the Aurors come," Rosier growled. Suddenly he froze, and then before Sirius could react, Rosier's wand shot out—in _his _direction. _"Appareo!" _Sirius jerked away from the spell…and straight into the cupboard he'd been standing next to. _"Incarcerous!" _

Sirius dove out of the way, but the noise he'd made was enough to give away the fact that there was someone else in the room on whom, presumably, revealing spells did not work on. "Snape, you traitor!" Rosier roared, and might have said more—

_"Accio _cloak, _Accio _wand,_" _Before Sirius could dodge, could grab onto the Invisibility cloak around him properly, react to the bored voice of Snape betraying him, the cloak jerked itself off of him and soared obediently to Snape's outstretched hand, his wand tearing out of his hand to follow suit. "_Incarcerous."_

"You bastard!" Sirius struggled ineffectually, staring in disbelief at the greasy git who had just sold him out. "I knew I couldn't trust you!"

"Your fault, Black, for believing me anyway," Snape shrugged callously. He turned back to Rosier—_his _wand had, at Snape's spell, gone with Sirius' wand to Snape. "There's only one way to protect this old junk of a castle up to the strength that the Aurors won't be able to enter at all," he said casually. "Blood sacrifice—_unwilling _blood sacrifice and death through betrayal. I thought it would be appropriate to bring along an offering."

Rosier eyed the tightly bound boy who was thrashing helplessly against the strong ropes. "How can I trust _you, _Snape, if you can easily trick Black?"

"It's all one to me," Snape answered. He tossed Rosier's wand back at him. The other boy caught it. "You had better decide soon what you want to do, though. The Aurors aren't far behind me. I can always _Obliviate_ Black and send him back, and leave you to your own devices."

"Snape, you conniving little turncoat, fight me like a man! You disgust me, you tosser! Slimy piece of shite, let me _go _and see if I can't beat you at dueling now, _both _of you! _Traitorous scumbag!" _

_"Silencio, _Black. Should have known better than to trust _Snape," _Rosier sneered unpleasantly. He glanced over at the dark-haired Slytherin who was lounging indolently against the wall now. "Fine, Snape, do whatever you have to do to ward this place."

Snape pushed himself off the wall, ignoring the angry, desperate thumps coming from Sirius. "I still need to see the Nott girl," he drawled. "She needs to witness the sacrifice—innocent witness to affirm and boost the magic, and you can hardly claim to be innocent. Neither can _she," _Snape added with a nasty smirk, "but she'll have to do."

Rosier laughed odiously. "Snape, I didn't know you had it in you. Come on, she's locked up in the next room." He led the way out of the room and unlocked the door, aiming his wand and taking down the room-sealing spell with a muttered incantation. Snape flicked his own wand, levitating Sirius' bound body out, bumping him with a nasty crash into the doorway before maneuvering him into the next room. Sirius tried hard, very hard, to ignore the malevolent laughter, but when he was dropped a foot to the floor with a painful thud on his side, it was near impossible. Then he realized that he was inches away from another prone body—_Anna! Oh Merlin, Anna, sweet Anna, wake up! Please! Be all right, oh gods, be all right! _He sobbed mentally, trying to move his tied limbs to scoot over the remaining space of the rough stone floor to where she lay pale and unconscious, bruises already marring her soft skin. _I'll kill him, the bastard, I'll kill him for laying a finger on you! _

_"Reenervate," _came a voice—Rosier's. Anna's eyes flickered open. Sirius held his breath. She looked confused, and then her eyes met his and awareness—and fear mingled with determination swam into them.

"Sirius," she whispered.

_Anna, _he mouthed, but no sound came out—the Silencing spell remained in force. She shot up, throwing herself over him in kneeling position but looking with hate at Rosier and Snape behind him. "You wankers! Let him go, he's nothing to do with this!"

"Au contraire, little Nott," Snape jeered, satisfaction coloring his smooth voice. "He is _very _much a part of this, your knight in shining armor. In fact, he is to have the starring role and you must be content for now to be merely an audience."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he's about to die a very noble death to bring you protection from the nasty Aurors," Rosier hooted with sick glee. "Come on now, Nott, you haven't been _completely _sheltered growing up. I know you know a little about blood sacrifice wards, the kind the groundskeeper at _Chateau_ _Malfoy_ has around Death Cottage."

The dawning horror in Anna's eyes told Sirius that she knew what Rosier was talking about, and that Sirius was _not _going to be enjoying the experience the Slytherins had for him. "You sick bastards! You _filthy, _disgusting, murdering creeps! I never thought I'd see you stoop that low, even for you. Especially you, Snape, I thought you were better than the lowlife knob jockeyyou are!"

_"Silencio. _Sorry, darling, but I can't let you blow Snape's concentration with your petty, though amusing, insults," Rosier grinned. Snape said nothing, but the next second Anna was dragged off of him, though Sirius could see her mouth still screaming obscenities at Snape and Rosier. Ropes flew to tuck themselves securely around her arms as well, and Sirius was levitated into an awkward position lying prone on her lap.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, all you need to do is watch," Rosier taunted. Sirius could feel her body trembling, jerking in uncontrollable sobs, and something wet fell on his face. _Don't cry, Anna, not in front of the bastards! Not for me! _He thought in despair. He managed to wiggle just enough to see her face above his, twisted in almost-insane grief and fury.

_I love you, _he slowly enunciated. More tears blurred in her eyes, piercing Sirius with sorrow. He didn't care about Snape and his betrayal anymore, or Rosier and his sick humor. All that mattered was Anna. _Anna. _She leaned over him, hampered a little by her own bonds, and pressed a salty, hard kiss on his lips. Sirius kissed her back with all the power he had, savoring the taste of his love, and trembled in her lap.

_I love you too, Sirius Black, _she mouthed when she had broken away from him with a harsh, silent sob.

"How touching," a dark voice sneered—too close to him. A shadow that wasn't Anna fell over Sirius, and then he felt Snape press the tip of something cold and metallic and _sharp _against his chest, felt fire burst through and he screamed soundlessly as it slowly sank into him, deeper _oh gods it hurt like a bitch worse than when he'd broken his wrist years ago and he was burning, burning and the smell of charred skin rose to his nostrils and someone kept screaming and screaming and someone's deep, calm voice was saying something Latin, a spell, over the sound of the flames and he was swirling in the air and the blackness struck his face and took him away from the inferno, and he slipped into the oblivious cool dark with relief. _

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

_Fire in his chest and throat…_Sirius felt the flames lick at his eyeballs, saw Anna's agonized face wreathed in flames—and jerked awake, eyelids flying up and a strangled shout tearing from his painfully dry throat. _Anna! _But he was staring at a vision of clear blue-grey sky, hampered somewhat by the rather obnoxiously large heads in the way. _Blink. Blink. _Each time Sirius reopened his eyes, the sky and the heads remained, as did the sickly burning sensation in his chest and the sticky desert in his mouth and throat. Suddenly, all the other heads moved back and another one moved into his field of vision. _Anna. _Her face was streaked with tears, eyes puffy, nose red, and she looked as if she'd been to hell and back. _Anna is safe. _Relief flooded through Sirius like a wave of cool water, temporarily quenching the inferno in his body. He struggled to sit up. "Wha…"

"Shh." Anna's hands pushed him down again. "We need to…oh Merlin, Sirius, I thought you were…we need to heal you before we can do anything, okay? Just one second and then it's over. Just hold on for me, love."

"Anna…"

"Mister Black, this will only take a moment." Another head, looking gravely down at him. Professor Dumbledore? More memories came slowly trickling back of what had happened, but before he had a chance to voice any question or thought, the Headmaster placed his wand right in the center of where the pain was, and the flames leapt and all he could hear was ragged screaming and the stench of burning flesh…

And then it vanished completely. His sight clearing as if smoke had dissipated, Sirius gasped in grateful relief, drinking down sweet cold air unhampered by anything other than a residual ache in his chest. He heaved his body upright, although his head swam for an instant. "What happened?" he demanded of the crowd surrounding him—there was Professor Dumbledore, who had somehow healed him, Anna beside him holding his hand _(funny, I don't remember her taking it in the first place), _Barraio with a neutral expression on his face as he examined Sirius closely, Moody impatiently thumping a foot rhythmically on the ground.

"I would like to know that as well, Mister Black, Miss Nott," Albus Dumbledore said gently. "We were waiting for your signal when suddenly the both of you showed up rather worse for the wear right in the midst of us. Where is Mister Snape?"

Sirius paled as the rest of his memories roared back to life and he recalled Snape sneering, Snape coolly binding Sirius, Snape's hand coming down with the gleaming knife to pierce Sirius' skin…

He opened his mouth to speak, but Anna beat him to it. "He's back there with Rosier, and I think he's in trouble," she said in a small voice.

Sirius whirled on her. "In _trouble? _He bloody betrayed us to Rosier! He was the one who did _this _to me!" He turned to the Headmaster. "He said he was going to use me as a blood sacrifice to ward the fortress, Sir. He…" Sirius frowned. "How did we get here?"

Anna clutched Sirius' hand harder, but when she spoke it was strong and did not waver. "It was Snape," she announced. Swallowing when all eyes turned to her, she continued. "I'm not exactly sure what happened, but they were both set to k-kill Sirius. Snape had a knife—" she pointed at a finely tempered dagger that was bloodied at the tip, lying some distance away on the ground. Sirius shivered. He hadn't noticed it before. _The blade, pressing down and into his skin…_

"He…he pushed the knife in…and then he said a spell. I didn't actually hear it. I was…preoccupied." Anna tightened her already harsh grip on Sirius. "But then suddenly there was a drop in my stomach, you know like you get when you're going somewhere by Portkey, and then we were here. And that's all I know."

"Portkey…" murmured Dumbledore thoughtfully. "It takes much preparatory time to make any sort of Portkey. I don't think—"

Barraio snorted, the first time he'd said anything. "Are you all idiots? No wonder Snape was so eager to leave his schooling behind. The preliminary work to create a Portkey is time-consuming and difficult magic, true. But emergency Portkeys have been in use in the Ministry for at least eight years now, and every Auror possesses one. Am I right, Moody?"

Moody grunted reluctantly. "Yeah, they only need the final incantation to become a viable Portkey. Though how you knew that, wizard, I would love to discover. They are _supposed _to be secret…"

Barraio waved Moody's paranoiac stare away impatiently. "Secrets have a way of being found out, Auror. You of all people should understand that. Anyway, it seems simple enough and quite brilliant a solution too. Snape's a bright kid." He strolled over to where the bloody knife lay like a dead thing on the dirt, scooped it up. With his wand, he called out a spell Sirius recognized as a complicated form of the basic reveal spell that they had read about but never covered in their Charms class this year. The knife blazed purple. "Ah, just as I thought. Brilliant piece of work." Barraio looked proud.

"What is it?" Anna demanded, unable to stand the cryptic man anymore. "What did Snape do?"

"Do? My dear girl, Snape just saved both your lives—possibly at the cost of his own," Barraio answered. Sirius opened his mouth to deny that hotly, but the Potions Master barreled on. "This knife is a modified form of the emergency Portkeys the Aurors use. Snape had to say the last bit of incantation to _make _it a Portkey, but to trigger its actual release is a different matter. Aurors at the Ministry generally use trigger words, but in a crucial emergency it is rather unwieldy to first say the incantation and then the trigger word. Several have died because it took too long. Also, trigger words are only so powerful and _must _be set to a fixed location point. Fine for the Aurors, not fine for someone like Snape who would have wanted a more flexible location to flee to, depending on whom he angered. True Slytherin style, of course. He tied the trigger to _blood _instead. That's why he stuck the knife into you, Black. He would have been able to activate the Portkey even as he cut into your chest, and your blood on the knife did the rest of the work. Because blood is so much more powerful a trigger, Snape was able to tie the magic of the Portkey to respond to the blood that the blade drew. That knife read your blood, recognized the closest location that any ally of yours was, and took your to them. Since we were just outside, we were the closest allies who could help you, and the knife Portkey took you and Miss Nott by default since she was clutching on to you, here."

Sirius gaped at Barraio, speechless. _Is it true? Did Snape really not betray us after all? _

But Professor Dumbledore was already nodding, after having taken the knife from Barraio and examining the steady purple glow. "I think you are right, Luigi. The magic in this knife is very complicated indeed, but if anyone could do this, it would be our Mister Snape. But that leaves us with a grave question indeed. If Snape is truly working for us, he has just given himself away by Portkeying Miss Nott and Mister Black away from harm. A personal Portkey like this would only take one or two passengers, which is why he did not keep hold of the knife and come with you. One or all of the passengers would be…Splinched, most likely. However, I do not think he has another emergency Portkey on him. This one must have taken months to create in the first place."

Barraio dusted off his fingers. "_I, _for one, am not going to hang around any longer out here while my apprentice is potentially about to be killed in there. I'm going in."

Moody coughed. "The Aurors will go with you. We'll have to question Snape when it's all over, if he's alive, but better safe than sorry eh?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed although he looked far more concerned than Moody did.

_Snape saved us. He saved Anna. Again. And me again. I owe him a life debt. Again. Besides that, if he really did take the fall for us, I owe him my apologies and any chance I can give him to live a normal life. The git's really hard to get to know at all, but after Summer Gathering…after this year, I would prefer not to think that he would betray Anna and I. If he did, wouldn't he already be dead from the Blood Oath? _The last was the final convincing mental argument. Sirius clambered to his feet, ignoring the twinge in his chest and dryness in his mouth and the way his head hammered frantically. "I'm going too," he said.

"Mister Black, you are injured—"

"You healed me," Sirius said. "I'm fine. If Snape's really on our side and he's in there still with Rosier, then he's in trouble and I owe it to him ten times over to help him if I can. I'm not staying behind, Professor."

"We'll double-blind him," Barraio told them before anyone else could protest. "Black can go in front, pretend to be heroically going back to kill them _both _for hurting Anna. That'll throw Rosier off-balance, because right now he's thinking Snape betrayed him but if you can convince him for half a minute that Snape betrayed _you, _then he'll be just disoriented enough for when the Aurors come through right behind you. With all this activity going on in and around this place, your Voldemort's sure to send someone fairly soon to check on what's going on. The Aurors'll need to deal with them too, whomever he sends, make sure none of them find out that Snape turned on them."

Moody looked as if he were about to protest, then subsided. "Fine," he grunted. "Solid enough, if Black can play the part and not keel over and get killed for good this time."

"He won't. I'll be with him," Anna spoke up suddenly. Sirius turned to her.

"Anna…"

"Don't you Anna me, mister," she said fiercely, glaring at him. "You're the one more hurt than I am, and if you're going back in then so am I. I also owe much more than I can repay to Snape, and I am _not _letting you walk back in there alone."

"You will take care of each other," Dumbledore said firmly before Sirius could protest further. He looked old and weary suddenly. "I did not wish to send children to battle in the first place, but it seems there is no choice once again. Mister Black, Miss Nott, I will be seconds away along with the Aurors and Mister Barraio. I must insist you do not attempt anything foolish or beyond your means. You are only artificially healed, and will need much recovery and rest."

"I will be careful," Sirius promised, worried at how tired Dumbledore looked. _It's hard to imagine but he really is getting up there in his years. They have been older wizards and witches of course, but most of them go into easy jobs or travel the world or pursue their hobbies once they get to about his age. They don't direct an important magical school or battles where people could get hurt and die. _

"As will I," Anna promised somberly from beside Sirius.

Things moved quickly after that. Within a heartbeat, Sirius and Anna found themselves once more surrounded by the fortress castle's gloomy interior. An instant later, they heard a distinct _Pop! _The kind of sound that only came from one type of magic: Apparation. _Oh, dear. _Sirius exchanged panicked glances with Anna as several more _Pops _occurred. They were coming from down the hallway, and Sirius hastily Disillusioned himself and Anna before grabbing her hand so he wouldn't lose her. They crept their way to the stairs without meeting anyone thankfully, although they heard the murmur of voices as Death Eaters—so Sirius assumed—set about the downstairs, clumping about loudly. _Probably checking if everything is undisturbed downstairs before they venture up. That gives us a hair more time. _Sirius felt an iota of relief, which was shattered instantly when, as they hit the top step, he heard something that was most definitely not the sound of Apparation.

It was a low groan, almost a _huff _of pained breath rather than a vocalized sound really. And it was accompanied by the muffled but very recognizable aristocratic voice of Evan Rosier. _Snape, he's hurting Snape! _Sirius began to race to the room where the noise had been coming from, only to find himself pulled up short by a wildly clutching hand. _Anna. _She yanked him back hard, hissing at him in a low-pitched tone. "_No! _The plan, keep to the plan! Won't do him any good if you go haring off and get caught again!"

The heat and urgency in her soft whisper brought reason back to his brain cells, and although Sirius felt his gut churn with disgust and fury, he acknowledged that Anna was right and instead of charging into the room, slowed his steps to maintain the quiet and they resumed their cautious way to the room where Snape and Rosier must surely be—the same room, his mind screamed frantically, as the one where they'd trapped Anna and Sirius and been about to kill him. He ignored the surge of panic, gave Anna's hand a squeeze. It was now or never.

Sirius eased the door open ever so slowly, and luck was with him. The first view he had was of Rosier—his back, that is, fully towards the door so that Rosier couldn't see it swing open silently to reveal apparently no one and nothing before gently moving back to its closed position. If it hadn't been so crucial, Sirius would have vomited right then and there at the sight that greeted his eyes. Rosier stood, hovering angrily over Snape, who was curled up in agony, blood spattered all over him. His clothes were ripped to shreds, eyes tightly shut, and he had bitten his lip through. He was bound head to foot in iron shackles, and just in front of his nose, Sirius spied wooden splinters and something glinting dully and growing darker and dimmer by the second—the remains of Snape's wand. Worst of all, perhaps, was that Rosier…was _enjoying it, _as if it were a sexual act, as he lashed out with vicious spells, all of them dark and horribly painful, watching Snape shake violently or try his best to shy away from Rosier's wand though the chains weighed him down far too effectively.

Anna gasped—a tiny sound, thankfully drowned out by the nauseating _crack _as Rosier casually broke Snape's left pinky with a well-placed curse. It looked as though he'd already broken several of Snape's fingers already, and Sirius swallowed down bile as he caught sight of the swollen, horribly unnaturally twisted digits, something ivory—_bone—_peeking out a jagged edge from a forearm. _Oh Merlin. I want to be sick. This is worse than with Anna. How can anyone stand that much _pain? And yet, incredibly, Snape had not made a sound other than the one groan, and it seemed to irk Rosier. He lifted his wand for another curse. Sirius couldn't stand it anymore.

"Rosier, you sick son-of-a-bitch!"

Rosier jumped, whirling to shoot a blind curse in Sirius' general direction. Sirius ducked the sizzling curse as it whistled past his ear, and aimed a silent _Stupefy _at Rosier. Unfortunately, despite the silent casting, the colored light of the spell was warning enough for the agile monster. Rosier leapt nimbly out of the way. He raised a glowing shield around himself, training his eyes on where Sirius' spell had come from. He laughed derisively. "Back again for more, Black? Couldn't get enough of me, could you? Didn't know you enjoyed bloodplay so much, you little blood-traitor."

"You are one sadistic, twisted bastard, you know that Rosier? You make me sick." Sirius moved jerkily out of the way as he spoke, and Rosier's curse smashed against the wall behind where he had been standing seconds ago.

"Show yourself then, and fight me like a real man instead of the queer that you are, Black," Rosier sneered.

The challenge rang deep into Sirius' bones and the competitive Gryffindor in him surged to the forefront, beating back any sense of self-preservation Sirius had. He cast a protective shield similar to Rosier's first before he materialized, and felt a whisper of air pass behind him heading in the direct of the curled up Snape who seemed almost lifeless now. _Gods, don't think about that. No time for distraction. _The puff of air had been Anna. She would do what she could for Snape, although Sirius was certain that she would rip him a new one once they got into safety for having placed himself in unnecessary danger.

"Care to pick on someone with a wand to fight back, Rosier?" he taunted. "Or perhaps you just want to curse me into submission since it's the only way you seem to be able to get any action at all in bed. No one else would go willingly."

Rosier roared in anger and an alarming blue jet of light hurled itself at him. Sirius strengthened his shield just in time, and he staggered backwards as it shattered on the invisible barrier. Rosier took the opportunity to curse him again, but Sirius had not been to Summer Gathering for nothing at all. As horrible as the mini Death Eater camp had been, it had taught him many things and among them, how to fight a Dark wizard. Now he would put every inch of hard-won knowledge that _Snape _had taught him into surviving and even beating Rosier until help came.

It was an evenly matched duel for some time. Sirius' rage and disgust had overwritten his body's exhaustion and injuries, and it also fueled the power behind his spells. Rosier sent a constant barrage of dark curses, hexes, and other spells at Sirius which Sirius countered, some with more difficulty than others. The blood pounded in his ears and sweat poured down his face and into his eyes, forcing him to blink and swipe at them. Rosier had the same problem at least. His hair was plastered by perspiration to his forehead and beads of sweat stood out all over his face and stung his eyes. But he was still a formidable opponent for all that, and Sirius' fury couldn't support him forever. Already his limbs were trembling and the shield was starting to give each time another curse slammed into it.

_Dammit, where are Dumbledore and the Aurors? I thought they said they'd be right up and ready to take Rosier the instant he became aggressive? _Sirius coughed unevenly, and Rosier laughed. "You…will _never…_win…Black," he panted victoriously.

"Fuck you," Sirius gasped back, and he transformed. As a large black shaggy dog, he gathered all his strength enough to bunch his muscles together and _leap, _launching himself straight at Rosier.

The magical shield frantically beat about him, but it had been meant to protect against _magical spells, _not against physical attack. Sirius took Rosier by surprise, landing square on Rosier's chest, knocking him backwards and onto the floor. In an instant, Sirius had gripped his teeth around Rosier's throat but he was painfully aware of the sharp wand digging into his side. _Standoff. _The question came down to it. Who was faster? Could Sirius bite through Rosier's throat before he cast a curse, or could Rosier kill Sirius first? They froze, both exhausted and neither one willing to test the other that far.

Sirius was tired, so tired, and all he wanted to do was _bite, _clamp his teeth hard down on the boy's smooth, pale throat. In another instant he might have done just that, and screw the consequences if Rosier managed to curse him before he died. But thankfully, the option was taken out of his hands.

_"Expelliarmus! Stupefy!" _The wand digging into Sirius' ribs vanished abruptly and the body beneath him slumped unconscious. Sirius did not move, although the voice was a welcome one. Instead, he growled low in his throat. _He deserves to die! For what he did to Anna, to me, to Snape—he deserves a painful death! _

"He deserves it indeed, Mister Black, but do _you _deserve to be his executioner?" the newcomer queried softly.

_I should kill him. One bite, and it's all over. Anna would be safe forever, and paid back for her father's death. Snape would be free. I would be avenged. I should kill him right now, it's so simple…_

_ Do you deserve to be his executioner?_

_ Do I?_

_ James wouldn't do it. He would be disgusted. He values the justice system and the law too highly to take it into his own hands._

_ Remus wouldn't do it. He values life too much, even the lives of murderers and perverts._

_ Peter wouldn't do it. He wouldn't soil his own hands with something as heavy, as corrupt, as murder. That's the job of the criminals and Dementors, except for in self-defense, he would say. Besides, he would never have put himself in this position in the first place. He'd rather leave the job to those who are actually trained for the job._

_ And Anna wouldn't do it. _Visions of Anna bloomed. Her small serious face the first time they had really talked, in the garden at _Chateau Malfoy._ Sitting in the library, nose buried deep within a book that was probably about either Arithmancy or architecture. Laughing, eyes bright with merriment as she linked her arm through Sirius' on their way to dinner in the Great Hall. Scolding James for a mild prank he'd played on Lily. Deathly pale and silent in the coma she'd been in at the Potter residence for far too long, hovering between life and death. Sparkling and beautiful and _his _as their lips met. Smiling sleepily as he held her comfortably in his arms, just _being, _together. Passionately arguing about something or another as he escorted her to her class after lunch.

_No, Anna wouldn't do it and she would be disappointed in me if I did. I am better than that. _Slowly, Sirius eased his teeth back, closing his mouth gently over thin air before backing off the prone body of Evan Rosier. Albus Dumbledore came forward to examine Rosier sadly, but Sirius was done with the scumbag and he turned away, transforming back into his own body as he did so. Anna stood by Snape, her eyes wet and shining, and one look at her overjoyed, loving face was enough to sweep the rest of his all-consuming anger away. She lifted her arms mutely towards him, and as naturally as if they had been doing it all their lives, Sirius stepped into them and drew her close.

**Author's Notes:**

_The title of this chapter, "Miserere Nobis," is a Latin phrase that roughly translates to "have mercy upon us," and specifically references the people's plea to God to have mercy on us sinners. It is a traditional part of the Eucharistic liturgy (found within the Gloria and the Agnus Dei). As justice and mercy are major themes within this story as a whole and this chapter in particular, I thought it would be a rather appropriate title. (And, as a choir kid for years and years of my life, I've sung a great many versions of the Mass that sets up each portion of the liturgy and I couldn't pass up a chance to include the little Latin I do actually know. I also find it extremely ironic that the only Latin I actually know are either Christian prayers or magical spells). _

_We're closing in on the end of the story now. As I promised early on, SMC is a short story and unless I wake up in the middle of the night with genius burning, there will only be two more chapters and an epilogue. Here's your warning so the ending doesn't creep up on you!_


	17. An Affirming Flame

**Disclaimer: Disclaim, disclaim, disclaim.**

He collapsed seconds after Auror Moody stepped through the door and announced that they had soundly trounced the little army of Death Eaters downstairs. He woke up to find himself in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, with Anna sitting next to him reading a book about _(what else) _Gothic architecture.

"You're awake! I thought you were going to sleep right through the summer," she grinned.

"Am I dead?" Sirius managed to croak out through the burning of his throat. "Because I sure feel like it, and you look like an angel to me."

"Not at all, you lucky git," she said proudly and with more than a hint of relief. "Professor Dumbledore healed the superficial wound the Portkey knife made, but between the shock of the knife in your chest and the duel you had with Rosier, you were completely drained. You've been in a fever-coma for a week. Your fever finally broke last night, and Madame Pomfrey said it would be a matter of time when you woke up."

Sirius swallowed—or tried to. _My entire throat feels like the Saharan Desert! _"Can I have some water?" he managed to get out before coughing and gagging on the dryness.

"Of course, silly me, she did say that you'd be wanting a drink when you woke up…" the angelic being that was his girlfriend quickly filled a mug with water, helped Sirius sit up a little, and lifted it to his lips.

Water slopped onto the hospital gown he was wearing and soaked his chin and bedsheets, but Sirius was in heaven, gulping down the cool liquid greedily. Each swallow brought discomfort to his raw throat, but it quenched the merrily burning conflagration. It took a refill, but Sirius finally stopped being thirsty and he smiled weakly at Anna as she returned the empty mug to the dresser by his bed. "Marry me," he blurted out.

Anna halted in surprise, eyebrows winging up so fast they slammed into her hairline. "Sirius Black, if I had known that it would be that easy to hook you just for a drink of water, I'd have offered you a glass a long time ago," she teased.

Sirius blushed a dull red. "I, uh…I…Anna…" he stuttered.

Abruptly, she sobered. "Did you mean it?"

"Mean…gods, _yes, _Anna!" Sirius looked disparagingly down at himself and then around at his sterile surroundings. "This probably isn't the most romantic of proposals or places," he said wryly. "But I love you, Anna, and hopefully it covers the multitude of sins my unfortunate timing seems to be. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Her eyes were brimming now, and she impatiently swiped at them with a rough arm before beaming at him. "Of course I will, Sirius Black. I love you," she whispered, and when he held out his arms, she went into them naturally.

Some time later, a noise made Sirius look up. Madame Pomfrey was bustling in through the door, and her eyes widened when she caught sight of them. "Sirius Black, let go of Miss Nott right this minute! You may have been sick, but it gives you no right to be inappropriate!"

Anna jumped and would have torn herself hastily away from Sirius, but Sirius tightened his hold on her and pulled her back to sit snuggled against him. "No," he said calmly. "I will not let my _fiancée _go if I wish to cuddle with her, Madame Pomfrey."

Anna made an embarrassed sound. Sirius squeezed her shoulder, but continued to stare with cool defiance at the school Mediwitch. It was she who finally looked away, and grumbling under her breath, bustled over to his side and checked his diagnostics. Sirius remained silent, not willing to push her further although he had no qualms about it if she insisted on separating Anna from him. Finally, she grunted. "You'll be back to normal in a day or two," she told him briskly. "Complete bed-rest today, but if you don't relapse, I'll think about letting you go tomorrow. Miss Nott—make sure Mister Black _takes _his potions. I remember that he has a distressing propensity to avoid taking them when he was sick previously." She summoned a squat, brown bottle to her hand and placed it with a _clunk _on the dresser. "Two tablespoons after every meal. You can catch him up on what he's missed, but I will be back in an hour to administer Dreamless Sleep if he's still awake. Tatty!"

_Pop. _"Yes, Mistress Healing?" squeaked a diminutive house-elf, peering up at Madame Ponfrey. She was twisting the edge of the towel she wore.

"Please bring up some lunch for Mister Black here—something easily digestible and nourishing. He hasn't had solid food in a week," Madame Ponfrey ordered.

"Right away, Mistress Healing! Tatty is bringing foods straight away, Ma'am!" _Pop. _The house-elf disappeared.

"Tatty will bring you lunch, and you _will _eat it, Mister Black," Madame Pomfrey commanded in a warning tone. Sirius decided it would be better to simply smile and nod. The formidable Mediwitch _hrmphed _and pinned both of them with an admonishing stare before moving out of the small, private room that was enjoined to the larger and more public hospital wing.

Anna sighed, relaxing against Sirius and the fluffy pillows. "I've missed you, Sirius."

"Missed you too," Sirius laughed, pulling her even closer and resting his chin on her head.

"Mmm. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you pushed yourself past your limits on purpose. You've missed all your NEWTs, you know. Your Leaving Ceremony is in two days."

"What's going to happen, do you know?"

"Dumbledore said that when you woke up, you'd have an extra week to study, and then he'd arrange for you to take your NEWTs specially. He'll probably let you graduate with your friends though, if Madame Pomfrey lets you out of bed."

_Pop. _"Mister Black is eating _all," _Tatty said sternly. _All _appeared to be a bowl of pottage, a steaming bun, and another glass—the color told Sirius that it was pumpkin juice. His stomach suddenly growled. Anna giggled and Sirius scooted back, allowing her to arrange pillows and the tray that the house-elf had brought on his lap.

"I don't think that'll be a problem, Tatty, it smells wonderful," he said honestly. The elf's overlarge eyes lit up with happiness, and she muttered something about being a good house-elf before disappearing abruptly. Sirius didn't need any more encouragement, his stomach had woken with a vengeance and he was anxious to assuage it.

"Slowly, or you'll just heave it later," Anna admonished. Sirius tried to slow down.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the noise of Sirius busily eating. Anna watched him comfortably. "Have you had lunch?" Sirius remembered to ask.

"Yup," she said cheerfully. "You're just having a late lunch. It's about one in the afternoon."

When Sirius had mopped up the last of the truly delicious pottage with the fragrant, soft bread and popped it into his mouth, Tatty appeared magically to take the tray away. She left the glass of pumpkin juice, and Anna uncorked the bottle of medicine with an ominous look in her eye. "Anna…"

"You _are _going to be taking your medicine like a good boy, aren't you, my husband-to-be?" she asked sweetly, a glint in her expression telling Sirius that he wasn't going to wiggle out of it. Woefully, he watched as the spoon came closer to his mouth, brimful with some disgusting concoction. "Open up, Sirius," she teased.

"You'll regret this," he growled, just before she slipped the potion into his mouth.

_"Blergh!" _Sirius spluttered, his stomach lurched, and he hastily downed the second spoonful of potion before grabbing the pumpkin juice and drowning himself. _"Gross! _Tastes like…like old socks and dog's droppings!" he scrubbed at his mouth, made another face, and stuck his tongue out in distaste.

"And you would know this how?" Anna asked slyly.

Sirius stuck his tongue out at her childishly, and she giggled. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Sirius Black."

"Indeed," came a familiar, sardonic voice at the door. Sirius instantly sat bolt upright in bed.

"Snape!"

"Yes," Snape acknowledged with a hint of scathing humor.

"You're…you're…" Sirius let his disbelieving gaze rake over the other boy. He looked gaunt, dark shadows circled his eyes, and he rested against the doorway more heavily than a healthy person would have, but he was _alive _and a far cry from the mess he'd been on the floor at Aberdyfi Castle.

"Alive?" Snape contributed with a large dose of sarcasm. "Why yes, I suppose I am. I'm a little too solid to be a ghost, and an Inferi wouldn't bother with pleasantries but simply charge in and kill you. So yes, I believe that the only other option is that I am alive."

"How did you…"

Snape inclined his head stiffly towards Anna. "Nott was kind enough patch me up enough to survive until the actual rescue came, while you distracted Rosier. Master Luigi then stabilized me further and got me to St. Mungo's, where the Healers put the rest of me back together."

"Oh." Sirius felt nonplussed. How much had he missed out on? And just what do you say to the person you last saw being tortured to death on the floor? "Uh…"

"I just came to tell you that your life debt to me is paid," Snape informed him sardonically. "You are now a free man in all regards, Black. I'm sure Miss Nott can catch you up on the rest of the details later. Goodbye. I'm sure I'll see you soon, unfortunately." He sneered and left, limping gradually as he made his way out of the Hospital Wing. Sirius stared after him. Then he turned resolutely to Anna. "What did I miss?" he questioned.

Anna sighed. "It took him a week to heal from whatever Rosier did to him after we escaped," she told him quietly. "Five days, the Healers at St. Mungo's didn't think he'd make it, but he finally pulled through and recovered enough to demand to be released just this morning. But he got his revenge, right after you passed out." She smirked at him and Sirius grumbled.

"You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Sirius Black, fainting like a girl? Not a chance," she grinned. "Anyway, after Moody arrived and you _fainted, _Professor Dumbledore had Moody and the Aurors transport everyone, all the Death Eaters they'd captured, to Azkaban. That's what took them so long, you see, they had to fight their way through all the Death Eaters who'd come to check on me and bring me to the Dark Lord for his ritual, and give Dumbledore and Barraio a gap in the fighting to dash upstairs to help us. Barraio and Dumbledore managed between them to revive Snape long enough to use that potion of his on Rosier—it would have been fairly _beautiful _to see that potion do its work if Snape hadn't been half-dead and barely hanging on to the spell-end of the potion. _That _was scary. You should have seen him, Sirius. I've never seen anyone endure so much pain before, not even…" Anna paused, a pained look crossing her face before it faded and she determinedly continued. "Anyway, he managed to direct the potion to completely burn out the important memories in Rosier's mind, everything relating to my kidnap and your rescue, and whatever he had on Snape too. That's a brilliant potion, that. I think Moody was ready to interrogate Snape right then and there on its legalities and whether the Ministry and the Aurors could use it instead of the _Obliviate _spell for important procedures, since the _Obliviate _can be broken. But after that, it was all just…getting you and Snape to St. Mungo's, getting the Death Eaters and Rosier to Azkaban. St. Mungo's released you to recover at Hogwarts after a day, said that you would recover fine as long as you got rest and potions to break the fever."

Sirius pulled Anna closer to him, mulling over the events that he had missed. "How is Snape going to explain needing St. Mungo's treatment to Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy?"

"He isn't. Dumbledore and Barraio both together as a team are pretty scary, let me tell you," Anna said fervently. "They admitted Snape in with a different name and only two Healers ever saw him. He had a private room with all kinds of wards on it, and Barraio was _always _there, and that man is a match for Dumbledore if anyone is. No one knows that Snape was in St. Mungo's, and the Healers were sworn to secrecy. Snape's also taking his NEWTs the same time you are, but everyone thinks that he took his early and didn't need to show up." Sirius wrinkled his nose.

"Why couldn't they do that for me?" he asked plaintively.

Anna laughed. "Because first of all everyone knew you were part of my rescue, and you were recovering in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. James, Lily, Remus, and Peter have all been in to see you daily. Second, because _no one _would believe that Sirius Black would be able to or willingly submit to taking his NEWTs early." She smirked at him. Sirius pouted, but was unable to deny the truth.

"Fine," he sulked.

Anna struggled and with some self-control was able to look at him without giggling. "Anyway, the beginning of the story is pretty much what we guessed about Snape, or rather, Barraio pointed out about the knife," she went on in a rather confused, garbled manner. Sirius raised an eyebrow at her rather topsy-turvy narrative but remained quiet. If Anna needed to talk, no matter how jumbled the story was, he would listen.

"Snape told Dumbledore during one of his coherent moments that the knife was a Portkey like we deduced, meant to be a failsafe in case something went wrong, like Rosier cottoning on to the original plan you had to rescue me. He didn't tell you because he didn't think you could act worth a knut, and I agree." She smirked affectionately at Sirius. "Sorry, Sirius, but you _really _aren't that great at acting. Any Slytherin—and Rosier most of all—would have seen through any act you tried. So he didn't tell you, but when Rosier did begin to suspect Snape, he used it to get the both of us away by using your blood to trigger the Portkey."

Sirius shuddered. Anna grimaced. "I know, rather macabre, but rather smart too. So when Rosier discovered your presence, Snape pretended to betray you and got Rosier to take you to me." She laughed bitterly now, with no humor whatsoever. "The damn bastard fooled me too. I really thought they were going to kill you in front of me, and I couldn't do a fucking thing about it."

"Hey now," Sirius said in alarm as a tear rolled quietly down her cheek. He used his thumb to gently wipe it off her cheek. "Hey now, love, don't cry! I'm okay, see?"

She smiled a watery smile, pressed closer to him and put her forehead to his shoulder with a sigh. His other arm went around to encircle her awkwardly, stroking her brown hair rhythmically.

"He stabbed you," she continued, voice muffled against his arm. "It really wasn't that deep, maybe an inch or so, and he deliberately sliced just a little to the right, so it missed your heart entirely. You were screaming, and I couldn't look…" she trailed off, gave a shuddering gasp. Sirius said nothing but continued to stroke her head soothingly. One of her hands came up to scrabble at his chest, resting over where he vaguely remembered the fire and pain originating from. "Anyway, you know the rest," she concluded a little hastily. "Snape said that he thought Rosier had at least enough honor in his word as a Pureblood—he tried calling in the unspecified favor, but Rosier reneged." Anna spat this with tones of disgust. Sirius, with a little bit of understanding of the importance of a promise that had been given in the price-binding exchange, thought that Rosier had dropped to new lows. If it got out that he had reneged on a price-binding promise, no Pureblood would ever associate willingly with him again, even though he be so powerful. Purebloods considered the breaking of such an exchange worse than murder. Then again, Severus had lied about ever warding the castle and helping Rosier, but that didn't count as going back on his word…Sirius shook his head. Pureblood politics were still too much for him.

Anna abruptly shifted the topic, raising her head. "I didn't know you were an Animagus."

"Uh…"

She smiled weakly. "Don't worry, Only Dumbledore, Snape, Barraio, and I saw. Everyone's already agreed to forget that they saw what they did, and Dumbledore will probably ask you not to register. These are dangerous times after all, and it might save your life again." She looked about ready to cry at that thought, but brightened just a little enough to tell Sirius, "I was so proud of you, you know. You wanted to kill him, but you held back."

"I should have killed him," Sirius growled.

"But you didn't, because you're not like them. You're not like _him." _Anna affectionately laid her head on his shoulder. "That's why I love you. You're such a bright and beautiful person with a conscience that I admire." She dimpled at him. "Thank you, Sirius, for rescuing me. I don't know what I would do without you, and when I can work up the energy I will most certainly yell at you for being as stupid as to expose yourself to Rosier. But for now…" she sighed deeply, contentedly. And they sat and drank in the peaceful atmosphere and the barest hint of the beginning of dusk, together.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

"Snape."

One dark, straggly-haired head jerked up. Recognition flickered in his eyes, and then just as quickly there was no expression once more. _Damn Slytherins and their perfect masks, _Sirius thought without heat.

"Black. Graduating in name, if not in NEWTs?" Snape sneered.

Sirius shrugged. "Taking them next week, same as _you, _you hypocritical Slytherin. They'll be a breeze after this year, and I'll have _you _to thank for my Potions O," he joked.

"Don't count your dragons before they hatch," Snape advised snidely.

"I'll keep it in mind, you keep it in yours," Sirius shot back. There was a long hush. Sirius watched the ripples of the lake move suspiciously. Something in the lake—probably the Giant Squid or one of the merpeople—was disturbing the way the water moved. In the distance, Sirius heard James' distinctive voice shouting in glee at something, and a hum of other people screaming and laughing. _Quidditch Pitch—they said they were heading out there for one last impromptu game at Hogwarts. _Sirius was banned, on orders from Madame Pomfrey, but there would be other games at other places, and he had something else important to do.

"How are you hands?" Sirius suddenly asked, remembering the stray thought he'd had while staring down at Snape's broken body on the cold stone floor. "I mean, is it…are you…"

"The Healers at St. Mungo's have assured me that I will regain complete feeling and function of my hands within a month at the latest," Snape replied. "Master Luigi has refused to begin any brewing before then, so I should be fine by the time I begin my actual apprenticeship. No lasting damage."

"Good," Sirius muttered. _It would have been terrible if Rosier had managed to spoil Snape's hands. They're the most important thing in Potions. _

The black-robed wizard next to him folded his arms and stared out at the moving lake. He'd been standing out here by the lake for a good while. Sirius had watched. But he didn't say anything further, and Sirius didn't push. He could be patient sometimes. _Once in a blue moon, _Anna would have retorted. Sirius smiled. _Anna. _They'd been through so much already. He'd already promised that they wouldn't be married for a good long while, despite their engagement. After all, she was still in school and wouldn't graduate for another two years. _Just because they never repealed the laws that allow underage marriages to occur, doesn't mean we have to take advantage of it. I want her to be an _adult _in an age sense, not just a mental sense, before she says yes to me for the law. _Arguably, Anna was mentally and emotionally as mature as Sirius—probably _more _mature. But he'd be damned if he took the rest of Anna's childhood away from her when so much of it had been snatched away by the blood purists!She wanted to be established as an adult working in the adult world independently before she linked her name with anyone else anyway, and Sirius wouldn't have expected—or wanted—anything less than that from her. That she had promised to link her life with his someday in the future was enough for him for a while. _And I hope she doesn't change her mind. _She was, after all, two years younger and still in school—what if she met someone else? What if Tancred Dover started sniffing around her? _Fuck me, I'm _not _going to worry about that, _he told himself. _She's already made it clear she loves you. You love her. She said yes to an engagement, albeit a long one. She isn't going to back out on you! _

Finally, it was Snape who broke the still. "What do you want, Black?" he bit out.

"A thousand galleons, a chocolate frog, and the death of the man styling himself as Lord Voldemort," Sirius said easily. "Since none of them—except the chocolate frog—are attainable at the moment, I'll be content with some answers from you."

"You had the chance to kill me a week ago at Aberdyfi Castle. I'm quite capable of defending myself now." He hefted a slim, dark wand—he must have gone to Ollivander's to get a new one, then.

"Oh, I don't want you dead." Sirius turned to Snape earnestly. "Just answers, and that would be rather hard to get if you were a rotting corpse sullying the lake and scaring the Giant Squid."

Snape snorted. "The Squid is a coward. It's afraid of it's own shadow on the lake floor on a sunny day."

"Exactly," Sirius retorted cheerfully.

Snape snorted. "What answers do you seek, Black? I have few for myself, even fewer that I wish to tell."

"Oh, just a couple to satisfy my curiosity some." Sirius casually leaned against the lone tree that they were standing under. "What happened after Anna and I Portkeyed out?"

"Rosier and I fought. He won," Snape said tersely.

"You know," Sirius murmured thoughtfully, "I don't think that's quite how it worked out."

"That's too bad for you, Black."

"Did he rape you?"

Snape was very still. "You're delusional, Black. The fever must have burned out the last of your sanity," he snarled, voice dripping with vitriol.

Sirius remained unperturbed. "You don't have to tell me play by play what he did, Snape. But he did, didn't he, or he was about to? I saw him in there, getting horny by torturing you. You were concentrating all your attention on getting me and Anna out, on not killing me with the knife. I don't remember very well, but I _do _remember that you were kneeling over me, and Rosier was standing _behind _you. Perfect position for him to, oh, shoot an _Incarcerous _at you and take your wand, it would have been really difficult to get out of the way and on your feet facing him to fight at all. So, he probably did quite a number on you, and I know what a sick mind Rosier has and that he's already forced you before." Sirius went on ruthlessly, though Snape was vibrating with tension and bottled wrath.

"You're smart, though, Snape. I never gave you enough credit for it, before this summer. But you learned trickery and survival from the very best, didn't you? So you went along with it, did the best you could. Held on as best as you could and endured whatever Rosier did until Barraio could decipher your plan and get in to help you. You trusted him to be able to figure it out even if none of the rest of us could, didn't you? You waited and held on until we came in."

"Black…" Snape growled.

"Snape," Sirius replied evenly. He met the other wizard's eyes. And held his breath.

After an eternity, Snape broke the eye contact, turning away abruptly from Sirius to look back over the lake. "You have nothing but idle speculation and erroneous 'clues' gleaned from your girlfriend," he jeered. "Nothing at all. No medical records or evidence or witness to your little fever-induced fantasy."

"Fiancée," Sirius corrected. "And no, I don't have any evidence and St. Mungo's medical records are sealed tighter than King Tut's tomb. Which wasn't that secure, anyway, if the Muggles could get in, even if they missed the curse set on looters," he mused. "Anyway, the files cabinet with all St. Mungo's' patient information and records is warded to the teeth and they've all taken the Healer's Oath and their take on patient confidentiality is worse—or, I guess, better, than an Unspeakable's on the Department of Mysteries."

Snape stiffly began to stride away. "Sun's going down. Leaving Ceremony's soon, you had better change," he grit out.

"Snape!" Sirius called after him. "I just wanted to thank you for saving Anna—for saving the both of us. None of my 'idle, fever-induced dementia' will get out. I haven't even mentioned it to Anna, although I can't promise that she hasn't figured it out by herself. She saw the same things I did. But I won't mention it at all."

"It was the only way to honor my Blood Oath and _not _end up dead one way or another," Snape said.

"If you want to think that, then go ahead. But I am glad to call myself your ally and hopefully one day I might even be proud enough to call myself your friend." Sirius watched as, almost imperceptibly, the bony set of Snape's shoulders eased its rigid tension.

"Your friend—he has nothing to fear from an ended vow of secrecy on his condition."

Sirius frowned before it hit him. _Remus. He's promising not to reveal that he's a werewolf, even after our Leaving Ceremony when Dumbledore's forced oath ends. _"Thank you," he replied carefully. "It wasn't necessary…but I am grateful to you."

"Don't be late for your own Leaving Ceremony," was all Snape returned in a terse voice, and he did not look back as he continued his journey towards the castle.

"Snape!" Sirius called again. "Enjoy Italy and get yourself a bloody tan, you pale scrawny arse!"

He received a disgusted snort and no other answer, but was content enough with it as the other boy walked off in the direction of Hogwarts Castle. _Just a few more minutes before I go in, _Sirius thought, noticing the dying light and the growing shadows. He looked back at the lake, which was now completely still but for the occasional lapping at the edges. The first crickets of summer were beginning their nightly chorus. _Hogwarts. _Sirius sighed, gazing over the lake and the grounds of the school that had been his life for the past seven years—almost half his entire existence! _Here, I met James and Remus and Peter and made friends for life. Here, I played many a good prank and became an Animagus to support one of my best friends. Here, I won and lost Quidditch games and thought that it was the end of the world when the Slytherins won the House Cup and the Quidditch Cup that one year. Here, I courted and won the fairest and most brilliant witch in all of Britain, although James would disagree and say that _he _had won the best witch—after _years _of being snubbed, too! Who'd have thought fiery Lily Evans would actually fall in love with James after all? _Sirius chuckled, remembering several memorable rants the red-head had had. Her quick temper was legendary, as well as her myriad of inventive insults for the Marauders in general and James in particular. _He told me that he's going to ask her to marry him tonight, after the Leaving Ceremony. He's taking her to the fanciest restaurant in London that requires booking months in advance, and he's going to pop the question there. Better job than I did with my proposal, I must admit, _Sirius ruefully thought.

But Sirius was planning on fixing _that. _He'd owled his Uncle Alphard, the _only _non-disowned Black family member that still kept in touch with him after his mother had disowned him (which she'd done just after Anna had been kidnapped, but before they had left on their rescue mission, Sirius found out). He hadn't known—probably because he hadn't had any time to open any owl post telling him of that fact because he'd been too busy getting Anna back safe. _Snape _had known—Dumbledore had admitted to telling him before they left for Aberdyfi Castle. Rosier must have known too. It was answered the unvoiced question Sirius had had about how they'd dared risk the death of a Pureblood against his parents' wishes, which had been what had kept Rosier from killing Sirius outright in the primeval and barbaric whipping punishment. _Because I was disowned, so Mother couldn't claim protection for my life anymore. _

It didn't matter. He had another family now, and Uncle Alphard had been cautiously supportive although wary of angering the Black matriarch. He'd sent Sirius a considerable sum of galleons furtively, although he wouldn't come out and actually state his support and defy Sirius' parents. The money was a big help, though. There was enough pay the Potters rent—he refused to bum off of them anymore when he could afford to pay his way. And there was _still _enough for what Sirius had planned for Anna tonight. James wasn't the only one who could be romantic, although Sirius wasn't planning an extravagant affair like James'. Anna wasn't like that. She would most likely smack Sirius and call him an insensitive idiot for asking her in public, with _everyone's _eyes on them. No, he'd spent the money to rent a tiny, self-steering, self-rowing boat complete with disillusionment so it—and they—wouldn't be seen. The weather was supposed to be clear and fine all evening, and the little boat was rock-steady and magically shielded from the usual dangers of sailing in the ocean, he'd been promised. The house-elves had been all too delighted to pack a delicious dinner for two (or fifty, as they were wont to do). And he had a ring.

Oh, _that _had been an ordeal. He'd had all of about six galleons left after he'd figured expenses, and all the rings, even the smallest, meanest ones had been a minimum of fifty. He'd been about to walk out of the last store dejectedly when the old hag who had shown him the rings had beckoned him over. "Try Muggle London, them pawnshops," she croaked. "If the gal's worth it, she'll understand that you canna' afford no traditional rock nor hoopla o' magic enchanted ring."

He'd not been hopeful, but he'd ventured out into Muggle London, gotten completely lost within minutes, and after about half an hour of wandering, ended up in a tiny pawnshop tucked in the corner of a street. And, tucked in the back corner of a black velvet tray of pre-owned and resold rings, was a tiny, oval-shaped translucent grey-silver gemstone set in a silver band that bracketed the glowing gem on either side with an elegant curlicue. The Muggle manning the shop came over.

"_Ah, the grey moonstone ring. You have good taste, Sir," the middle-aged man said. "Not as impressive nor as traditional as some of those large rocks—" he waved his hand disdainfully over the rest of the rings—"but certainly much more tasteful and sophisticated. Much like your young lady, I presume?"_

_ "It's the same color as Anna's eyes," he murmured, more to himself than to the stranger in the shop. _

_ The Muggle knew a hooked customer when he saw one, and he thought about jacking the price up. Then he looked again at the man who had wandered into his little shop. Man? Boy, really, still in the first stages of learning to be a man—and utterly besotted with the woman whose eyes matched the precious jewel of the ring he'd picked up. His face softened. He'd been one of those young lads once, poor as a church mouse and just as in love with his Nancy as he was skint. Everyone had clubbed together to help him buy his girl a ring that didn't come out of a soda machine, and she'd always said that the plain little band was priceless because she thought of all the people who had loved them enough to help pay for it when she looked down at her hand. _

_ "You plan on marryin' her soon, boy?" The Muggle asked curiously._

_ "No, no," Sirius said vaguely, still turning the ring around and around. "We're too young, and she's still in school. And I want to get a job, earn enough for a stable life together and a place of our own before we actually get married. But she deserves the best ring in the world, to tell everyone that might be looking that she's mine and no one else's."_

_ The Muggle grinned. "With your passion, boy, she'll never go roving, ring or no! But if you want it, it's yours for forty pounds. Grey moonstone from Ceylon, set in sterling silver, thought to inspire calm, strength, and clarity. Tis said that them natives in India, they give these stones to young lovers to give them insight into their intertwined lives and futures together. Mysterious history too for the ring itself, which is ace since too many o' those rocks there got many a tear and anger followin' it."_

_ "How did you come by it?" Sirius asked curiously, holding it up to the light between a finger and a thumb. It glimmered with a light of its own, looking like a little iridescent slice of the moon._

_ "Little gal found it in the bushes while playing in the park," the shop-owner narrated. "Mother 'ad the sense to see it were worth something, and she pawned it off to me on the way 'ome."_

_ "So it could have been lost?"_

_ "Aye, but the gal's mother said she'd arst 'round at the park, an' no one knew of it." He shrugged. "Of course, it would 'ave been better off to take it 'round t' the Bobbies, but what's done is done and they weren't so well off, either."_

_ Sirius considered that. _I suppose I can understand that the need to feed your kid is stronger than the desire to return a ring that might or might not be lost or thrown away in a fit of rage. At least I don't know if a tragic history follows it, and that's essentially like beginning anew. It's Muggle so it's not cursed or hexed or jinxed, and just to be sure I'll check when I get home. Forty pounds…let me see, that's…seven? No, eight Galleons. _Sirius did some rapid mental calculations. _I don't like it, but I think that James' parents won't mind if I skint them two Galleons and pay them back later.

_ Mind made up, Sirius nodded decisively. "I'll take it." He hesitated. "Uh, do you mind if you hold it for me for perhaps an hour while I run and get the money I owe you?"_

_ "Not at all. See, I'll put it in a nice box under my counter right here, so I won't sell it by accident," beamed the Muggle. "Off wit' you now boy, and I'll see you in two hoots!"_

In fact, the past two days since he'd been let out of bed had been a whirlwind of activity. This was the last time Sirius had had to stand still and relax. Unfortunately, now that all his errands save the Leaving Ceremony complete, his duty to thank Snape discharged, and he was alone, the fears he'd mostly successfully kept at bay came rushing back in. He wondered dismally if Anna truly wanted to be shackled to him, if she hadn't said yes in the hospital wing out of surprise and shock more than anything else, and just didn't know a good way to let him down. She was two years younger than he, still in school, still _young. _Surely she didn't want to be affianced to him. Surely—

"Sirius!"

Anna was calling him, a merry grin hovering around her lips and a bounce to her step. "Sirius you pillock, you're _thisclose _to missing your _own _Leaving Ceremony. You have all of about ten minutes to get to the Great Hall! Remus sent me to find you. James is swearing up a storm at people who have the temerity to be late to their own Leaving Ceremonies and Lily is threatening to wash his mouth out with soap, so you had better hurry!"

She reached him, and without hesitation grabbed his hand, yanking him along with her as she chattered on. He didn't hear the rest of what she said, but the natural way in which she tucked her arm through his and pulled him possessively close eased the panic that had stirred in his heart. _Silly ponce, _he chided himself. _She loves you and you love her and the rest will fall in place. We've time to figure out the rest of our lives. Right now, the important thing is to not miss my own Leaving Ceremony and the chance to properly bid adieu to the best seven years of my life so far—and prepare for even better years to come. _Arm in arm with his love, Sirius stepped into Hogwarts as a student for the last time, prepared to meet his future—for better or for worse.

**Author's Notes:**

_This chapter is titled "An Affirming Flame" in a salute to one of my favorite poets, W.H. Auden. In his poem "September 1, 1939," Auden responds to the outbreak of World War II. The first seven stanzas are a striking, authentic deliberation on the nature of war, both politically and internally. The last two stanzas offer both despair and a tiny point of hope in humanity. It is this last stanza, copied down below for your reading pleasure, from which I have taken the phrase for my chapter title. Make of the poem and my choice of it, what you will. I encourage you to read the full Auden poem, which is beautiful in the quiet roughness of its emotion. _

Defenceless under the night

Our world in stupor lies;

Yet, dotted everywhere,

Ironic points of light

Flash out wherever the Just

Exchange their messages:

May I, composed like them

Of Eros and of dust,

Beleaguered by the same

Negation and despair,

Show an affirming flame.


	18. Time and Tide

**Disclaimer: I borrow, I play, I put back. No damage done.**

**Potter and Evans: Wedding Bells**

_By Rita Skeeter, Junior Correspondent for the Daily Prophet_

_May 21, 1979_

The celebrity-status couple James Potter and his vivacious fiancée of two years said "I do" in the biggest bash of the century! The starry-eyed newly-weds exchanged their marriage vows with over a thousand of their loved ones as witness to their undying love.

The dashing James Potter, son of the late Mary and Harold Potter, shares his thoughts with this reporter: "Lily is the love of my life," he gushes, unable even while speaking with others to keep his eyes off his stunning red-headed wife. "She's the reason I didn't die of heartbreak when Voldemort killed my parents. I owe everything to her."

Swoon, women everywhere! The long-sought after James Potter is as romantic as he is handsome. His new wife confides to this humble reporter, "I never knew I could love anyone so much. We just clicked, you know?"

Clicked? Many would attest to the fact that James and Lily Potter didn't just click, they _sizzled. _"So much repressed passion between them even in school," a source who wishes to remain unnamed tells me. "You could literally see sparks flying every time they clashed, and they clashed _a lot." _

The happy couple are taking off for a two-week honeymoon in Greece and Italy before returning to their high-powered and promising careers, James Potter as one of the highest ranked Auror-trainees in Britain and Lily as a rising star in innovative research into Charms. Enjoy your life, James and Lily: the world is celebrating with you!

_**Obituaries for April 22 – May 20, 1979**_

_Hortensia Wood, Contributor to the Daily Prophet_

Edgar and Eleanor Bones and their three children Joseph, 8, Matthias, 6, and Emily, 2, were found dead in their house in London May 13 when the Dark Mark was discovered above them. Edgar Bones was a rising radical politician within the Ministry lobbying for more action to be taken against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and his wife Eleanor was a well-known Mediwitch at St. Mungo's, specializing in physical trauma caused by Dark magic. They leave behind many family members, including Mister Bones' sister, prominent Ministry official Amelia Bones. Their killer, Thorfinn Rowle, has been apprehended and awaits trial in Azkaban Prison. The Bones family will be missed.

Regulus Black was found dead in an abandoned shack with the Dark Mark above it on May 17. He was identified as a Death Eater by Aurors upon inspection of his body and discovery of the Dark Mark on his left forearm. Cause of death is the Killing Curse, but evidence suggests he was tortured beforehand. Regulus leaves behind a disowned brother, Sirius Black, friend James Potter. His parents, the elder Blacks, both passed away months earlier within days of each other of natural causes.

_**Obituaries for July 22 – August 20, 1979**_

Mercy and Henry McKinnon along with their daughter Marlene were found dead in their townhouse in London on Saturday afternoon after the Dark Mark appeared above their residence. All three showed signs of struggling and ultimately died of the Killing Curse. They leave no surviving family but many friends. They will be missed.

Twins Gideon and Fabian Prewett were pronounced dead on the scene by Auror Moody yesterday evening, one from a Killing Curse and the other from a bone-crushing curse. They died in what appears to be a battle between multiple Death Eaters, in a remote and unnamed location and the Dark Mark appeared over their bodies. They leave behind many family members, including sister Molly Weasley nee Prewett. The only suspect is Antonin Dolohov, a known Death Eater who has eluded capture since September of last year. The Prewetts will be missed.

_**Obituaries for January 22 – February 20, 1980**_

Benjy Fenwick was finally pronounced dead on January 29 after enough identifiable pieces of his body were found scattered in the Forbidden Forest. He was reported missing a month ago by his only remaining family, his mother, a Squib. Death Eaters are suspected to have killed him but Aurors have no hard evidence.

_**Marriages for March 22 – May 20, 1980**_

Sirius Black and Anna Nott said their vows to each other in a private ceremony on May 1 with only their closest friends in attendance, who include the Potters and Albus Dumbledore. Sirius Black, who graduated from his third and final year of Auror training less than a month ago, has been partnered with long-time chum James Potter. His new wife works at Bardun Buildings, Inc., the famous British architectural company and is a year out of Hogwarts. The couple has been engaged for three years, since newly-fledged Auror Black's heroic rescue of Anna Nott from the hands of known criminal and Death Eater Evan Rosier (who was captured in that same rescue and resides in Azkaban currently, serving a fifty-year sentence). Congratulations to the happy couple!

_**Obituaries for May 21 – June 20, 1980**_

Dorcas Meadows was found murdered in her bedroom on June 4, with signs of a struggle. The Dark Mark was above her house, and she appears to have been killed by the Killing Curse. She leaves her parents and other relatives behind, all Muggle. She will be missed.

**Potters Welcome New Addition**

_Dorothy Lyte, Senior Reporter_

_August 1, 1980_

_**Warning: In an effort to keep quotes true to the speaker's words, this article contains the true name of You-Know-Who. Readers take heed.**_

A little over a year after tying the knot, Lily Potter and James Potter welcomed a healthy son at St. Mungo's Wizarding Hospital maternity ward yesterday July 31. _See page 6 for pictures. _He will be named Harry James, after his grandfather and father respectively.

"I want him to remember bear his name with pride," James Potter told reporters, rocking his new infant son as he walked towards the hospital's floo with his wife to return to his home. "My father, Henry Potter, died a hero's death fighting against Voldemort, as did my mother."

Mrs. Lily Potter had no comment to add except that she was "very much looking forward to settling back home" with their precious new baby.

The couple did not answer any more questions. When asked, close friends to the Potters Sirius Black and his wife Anna enthused that "it's all very wonderful and exciting! We can't wait to see little Harry, but we'll wait a bit until the Potters have gotten their own bonding time with their son first."

The _Daily Prophet _staff and friends wish to congratulate the Potters on the birth of their healthy infant son.

_**Obituaries for October 22 – November 20, 1980**_

Caradoc Dearborn has been missing for over five months and is presumed dead by the Ministry. He was last seen leaving Gringotts Bank on June 14 wearing a navy-blue robes. If any information on the man is found, please contact the Auror Division immediately by Floo or owl. Dearborn leaves behind a widow, Katherine Dearborn, but the couple had no children. He will be missed.

_**Obituaries for February 22 – March 20, 1981**_

Jayashri Vasundhara was found dead in her countryside home early May 14 with evidence of being tortured before having the Killing Curse performed on her. The Dark Mark was above her house, but there were no witnesses to the crime. A Pureblood with no previous ties to You-Know-Who, she has nevertheless led a mysterious and almost untraceable life since arriving here from India to pursue the career of Healing, in which she became a certified Mediwitch running her own private business fourteen years ago, more well-known as Healer Madison. Surviving family are her parents, two younger brothers, and an older sister all living in India. She will be missed.

**Breaking News**

**64 Muggles Killed in Death Eater Attack**

_Dorothy Lyte, Senior Reporter_

_August 24, 1981_

Although the Muggles consider it a tragic accidental fire that raged out of control in a large office building in the heart of London that killed 64 Muggles and injured 31 more, the Wizarding World knows better. Four unidentified Death Eaters attacked the Muggle building on the morning of August 23 and killed eleven Muggles with the Killing Curse and other Dark spells before using _Fiendfyre _on the first floor and Apparating out.

Obliviators from the Ministry have had trouble erasing the memories from the Muggles who witnessed the magic. "Traumatic experiences are always harder to get rid of," says veteran Obliviator Cody Hans.

28 more were also injured in the attack and fire, and two Aurors suffered from third-degree burns and smoke inhalation from fighting the _Fiendfyre_. They are recovering in St. Mungo's Wizarding Hospital's burn unit.

This is the first such full-scale attack on Muggles by Death Eaters. The question on most minds is whether or not this type of attack on defenseless Muggles will continue as You-Know-Who gains support and scores victories.

**You-Know-Who Dead! Harry Potter is the "Boy-who-lived"**

_Written by Darius Abbott, Special Correspondent_

_November 1, 1981_

In an unprecedented showdown on the night of October 31 of the self-proclaimed "Dark Lord" and the national celebrity power couple Lily and James Potter, something spectacular happened indeed: You-Know-Who was killed by a one-year-old baby!

Little Harry Potter, the sole survivor of the confrontation, was struck by the Killing Curse, and in a stunning shocker, became the first person to have ever lived after being struck by the deadly Unforgivable favored by Death Eaters. The only sign of his mysterious victory is the lightning-bolt mark on his forehead.

On All Hallows Eve, the terror of Britain's Wizarding world was defeated by a child and celebrations are taking place, some enthusiastically spilling into even the Muggle realm.

Victory comes at a great cost: both the Potters perished, leaving many grieving friends and fans, and orphaning young Harry. They will live in our memories and our hearts forever.

The Boy-Who-Lived has been whisked off to an undisclosed location by Albus Dumbledore for safety. When asked about his decision to keep Harry Potter's new residence a secret, he stated that "There are still Death Eaters on the loose and other Voldemort supporters who might come after Harry for revenge. I learnt from a former student once that secrecy is the best policy, and I wholly agree with him on this matter."

The Supreme Mugwump and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had no further comment. Wherever you are, Harry, know that the world is rooting for you.

_**Two Years Later**_

If one had been visiting Azkaban on the day of August 1st, one might just have been the inadvertent audience to an unusual sight. Prisoners didn't often die in Azkaban. It Just Wasn't Done. They either stayed there until their sentence had run out, or they were shipped off to be Kissed. Those that did die in the Wizarding prison were those who had gotten life sentences, and finally died of old age or something along the lines.

In Cell 1331, a drama of particular importance to us was taking place. First, the morning guard had been seen dashing out of his wing of the prison, calling frantically for a Healer and his superiors. Shortly after that, five different people—Healers, guards, and a particularly annoying reporter who looked almost beetle-like in aspect, who had happened to be interviewing another prisoner that day, were crowding round the tiny prison cell. A few minutes of swarming activity after that, a sprinting guard had brought down a pudgy, huffing man—if you knew your politics, you would have recognized him as the Ministry official in charge of Azkaban. The short fat man tutted and turned bright red with—well, no one would ever know with what emotion, although our resident reporter-journalist speculated later to her "dear readers" that perhaps it had been the stench coming from Cell 1331 in particular, and the entirety of Azkaban in general. Avid readers of this burgeoning young talented reporter began to suspect the same thing themselves when, a mere week later, regulations were implemented at Azkaban Prison for all cells and prisoners to receive full strip downs and scrubbings—the former once every two weeks, the latter once every two days.

But back to the story unfolding. Soon, an entire mob had descended upon Cell 1331 regardless of the aroma to be witness to this rare occurrence: Prisoner 623A had died.

Prisoner 643A was infamous, despised, feared—the very best villain Azkaban Prison had housed in a good while, in fact. What made him so vile was the fact that not only had he fooled the entire world into loving him, the charming and handsome Auror, but he had fooled his best friends and his own wife as well. You see, Prisoner 643A was more commonly known as the bogeyman, or, for a real fright for the children, _Sirius Black. _He was the man who had single-handedly betrayed the Potters, his best friends, to _You-Know-Who _for an unnamed price, and then killed his other best friend Peter Pettigrew in a rage by blowing up a street when Peter had confronted him with the truth. As a result of his duplicity—a veritable Judas!—James and Lily Potter were dead and the orphaned young child they'd left behind, Harry Potter, had been spirited away into an unknown location by Albus Dumbledore for safety. Oh, and _You-Know-Who _had died. So much for the prisoner's double-crossing.

His wife, Anna Black nee Nott, was also thrown into Azkaban, an action the Minister himself later personally apologized for as "rash and panicked—forgive an old man his mistakes, my dear witch—" as it had been thought, since she had come from a Dark Wizarding family affiliated with _You-Know-Who, _that she had collaborated with her husband on the betrayal. Not so, as the nosy reporters and investigating officials soon found out. Anna Black nee Nott was an innocent pawn in a ploy by the dangerous man to appear once again like a hero, having saved the girl from a wretched fate languishing in an unhappy arranged marriage to another of _You-Know-Who's _followers by the name of Evan Rosier (who now resides in Cell 867). Anna Black nee Nott was released with profuse apologies after a month in Azkaban, and proceeded to pack up all her household items and move to Italy to recuperate.

Popular opinion had been to give the bastard—ahem, excuse me, the prisoner, the Dementor's Kiss. But cooler heads prevailed. No one could find substantial proof of Prisoner 643A's irrevocable guilt—the sneaky criminal had erased all incriminating evidence, and they had only the unplanned murder of Peter Pettigrew and twelve Muggles as well as the demolition of a rather shady street in a suspicious part of Muggle London. Since certain archaic laws of Wizarding Britain had never been rewritten, the Wizgamot was unable to give the sentence of the Kiss, which was reserved for only the foulest of murders of multiple _magical people. _Since solid evidence only proved the deaths of one known wizard and twelve Muggles, the Dementor's Kiss was an illegal option. Thus, a life sentence instead of the Kiss.

But it seemed rather pointless, this whole debate, now: for Prisoner 643A, after inhabiting his dank cell for barely two years, was dead. The Healers pronounced that they had no cause of death—he was simply found lying serenely in the small bed, smiling slightly, hands clasped together as if in prayer. It was an unsatisfactorily peaceful ending to such a bad, wicked man. The media went wild; the population went wilder. Soon everyone was outdoing each other in what might have happened. Conspiracy theories abounded, particularly among the Muggle-born folk. _He escaped and put a fake body there, _said some. _He found a way to commit suicide, _said others. But these were dismissed: Azkaban security was the best in the world, after all. But if you had been a close friend of either Anna Black _nee_ Nott or Remus Lupin, they might have looked at you for a long moment and then said, "He probably died of a broken heart." And that would be it. No explanations. Neither were prone to long philosophical discussions, not among the journalists or gossips anyway.

It took months for the public to calm down, and new, more useless rules were passed to appease them. Such as the smell-check regulations. Well, the human guards at Azkaban and the prisoners that inhabited the gaol were happy if no one else was. Still, for years to come, parents would scare their children into behaving by telling them that if they didn't eat all their vegetables, the ghost of _Sirius Black _would come and take them away.

**-x-x-x-x-x-**

In a different country, far removed from the broiling turmoil of Britain's most hated prisoner, a tall, bony man with an abnormally large nose and black hair stalked through a modest home tucked away in a little Italian villa. He knocked once, sharply, on one of the doors and then entered the room.

"Black. Are you up yet?"

Bleary grey eyes opened—the man in the bed had straggly brown hair and looked frighteningly gaunt, almost skeletal. He was almost as pale as the sheets he lay on. "S-Snape? Is this a dream? Have they invented Dementors that create dreams and then yank them away?"

"Don't be melodramatic, Black," Snape snorted. "No, you are not dreaming. You are really here, in my bed, in my house, in my country. Your wife has gone to work for the morning, but she promises to be back before lunch—she'll delegate the rest of her work to her employees. Here, drink this. You're disgustingly unhealthy, Black."

Aforementioned man tentatively held out a shaking hand to take the vial, downing it without question. He made a face. "Ugh. Well, if this isn't a dream, then I am well within my rights to tell you to piss off. Azkaban isn't exactly conducive to one's health. How did you get me out? _Why _did you get me out?"

"I can see this is going to take a long time," Snape sighed. He pulled a chair over, and called, "Aro!" _Pop. _Sirius stared blankly at the house-elf—the _dressed _house-elf. "Could you please bring some broth for Black?"

"Of course, Sir," the elf replied politely, disappearing. It appeared seconds later with a steaming bowl of soup, and Sirius' stomach growled audibly. He blushed, but Snape deftly ignored it, taking the bowl from the elf and handing it to Sirius. "Thank you, Aro. That will be all. Can you handle this on your own, Black?"

"Of course I can," Sirius snapped. He took the bowl eagerly, hands trembling a little. It was heavier than he expected, but pride would not let him admit it. Besides, he was _not _going to be spoon-fed like a little child. He rested the bowl on his lap and began to spoon up the broth, savoring the rich taste with pleasure.

"As to your questions, _how _I got you out—well, it took no easy doing, let me tell you, and a lot of the favors I'd gathered from other people. You are lucky I had as many as I did, I had to cash in nearly all of them to find a way into and out of Azkaban undetected and unrecorded. As for the rest, your wife and I worked extensively for almost two years to create the spells that would work in the plan we created. You are now dead, Black, a victim of an unknown Muggle heart disease that I'm not sure the Aurors will even look for. To all intents and purposes, Sirius Black died peacefully in his sleep, smiling for the world to see."

Sirius stopped eating to stare at Snape. "Yes, yes, you can save your profuse thanks for later," Snape said, waving a dismissive hand at him. "To answer your _second _question…" Snape smiled, unexpectedly, a thin and amused—and derisive—smirk. "Do you _think _for one second that I would have fallen for that foolish story that you double-crossed the Potters and killed Pettigrew? You didn't have it in you. I knew it back in school, and I knew it when I visited you in Azkaban a month after you were thrown in there and your aura was still untainted by the bloodstains that should have been there after the deaths of the Potters. Anna further confirmed my thoughts on the matter, and we came up with the real truth. Dumbledore and I managed to get Anna out of Azkaban, but nothing would convince the Wizgamot of your innocence—not even my ability to see auras and look into minds. So, Anna and I turned to the next best thing, and worked out a proper plan and some proper spells to get you out without suspicion."

Sirius' eyes felt unusually gritty. "Thank you, Severus. Thank you. You're the only one who believed, you and Anna…" he murmured. "Even Remus…"

"Your wife and I are the only ones tied to you by Blood Oath and experience," Snape reminded him in a voice that might have been labeled _gentle _if it hadn't been Snape saying it.

Sirius looked away, his lips trembling despite his futile willing them to stop. He suddenly didn't feel hungry anymore. "I'm not hungry."

"I don't care. You'll finish the bowl before I leave."

"But—"

"Would you like me to _force _it down your throat as if you were the recalcitrant mongrel you are, Black? You're in no condition to fight me, but it would be messy and you might drown."

"All right, all right, I'll eat it!" Sirius hastily picked up the spoon again, knowing that Snape was serious. "If I have to eat, then at least fill me in on the details I've missed," he added, tilting his head at Snape.

"Very well. What would you like to know? Oh, I know—your friend, Lupin—he's coming in a month to pick up another supply of Wolfsbane. He is telling the others wishes to personally see the brewer as well as visit the murderer's widow." Sirius swallowed a lump in his throat, spoon clutched in a tightening fist. "Oh, don't worry. He knows about Pettigrew's nasty trick and the truth. I made sure to tell him, _after _I had gotten you out of course, just in case he wouldn't believe me. He's very excited to meet you, although it would be suspicious of him to leave for Italy to meet Anna right after you died."

"He—he knows? He believes you?" Sirius stammered, hope swelling painfully in his chest. _Oh Moony…_

"Yes, although it took him a while to get the hexes out of his system," Snape replied dryly. His dark eyes—one might almost dare to say—softened a little. "He told me to tell you that he is unbearably sorry and misses you like crazy."

That did it. Sirius' eyes overflowed. Snape looked silently handed him a handkerchief and then looked away pointedly. Sirius was pathetically grateful. After he managed to get his unmanly sobs out of the way, another thought popped into his head. "Harry! What happened to Harry, Snape?"

Snape turned back. "Harry Potter, according to the public, vanished, courtesy of Albus Dumbledore in the name of protection." Sirius opened his mouth to shout, but Snape cut him off as he continued blandly, "I simply called in a debt the man owed me and he told me that the boy had been placed with Lily's relatives in Surrey to take advantage of the blood protections from Lily's sacrifice. I paid a visit, and decided that it was no home for the child—shunted aside and ignored. It took me six months—another reason your rescue was delayed—to create protections rivaling Lily's protection that did _not _involve death or ritualistic torture, but when I had created them, I promptly put them up here and took the boy off the relative's hands with a note to Dumbledore telling him that Harry Potter was safe and staying in an undisclosed location."

Sirius' jaw dropped. "You—he—you…he's here?"

"Yes, he is." A sound of tiny pattering feet had Snape wincing. "Speak of the devil…"

The door was flung open with some difficulty, and a tiny boy with messy black hair peeked in. "Unca Sevus? I's up!"

"I see that you're up, Harry. Good morning."

"Who dat?" The child crept closer, curiously looking at the thin man in Aunty Anna's bed. _Green eyes. Oh Merlin, I'd forgotten how vivid his eyes were, like Lily's. And the rest of him is James. _Sirius' throat swelled shut, and the tears threatened once more. _Stop it. I've never cried this much in my life. _

_Yes you have, _the hideous taunting voice in his mind whispered. _When Lily and James first died, and you felt like you had died with them…_blackness loomed, but a miniature hand on his arm had him jerking in surprise.

"Pa'foot?" Harry asked uncertainly, eyes wide and head cocked a little to the side.

"Yes Harry, it's Padfoot," Sirius croaked, unshed tears making his eyes bright.

"I missed you," the child confided, jumping up onto the bed and snuggling close to Sirius. Snape plucked the bowl of mostly-eaten broth off the bed before it could spill. Sirius felt his heart stutter and overflow with joy at the feel of the small warm body pressed trustingly to his.

"I missed you too," he muttered, holding the boy close.

"Unca Sevus said that you were in trouble becuz there were bad people who pretended to be you," Harry stated.

Sirius' eyes shot up to Snape, who merely shrugged. "He kept asking for his Padfoot and Moony. He understood just fine about Lily and James, but Padfoot and Moony were supposed to take care of him if anything went wrong."

"Oh Merlin. I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry. I couldn't do anything to stop…" Sirius choked, unable to say it.

Harry gazed at Sirius with knowing, liquid eyes. "S'okay Pa'foot. Don't cry. Unca Sevus tricked the bad people. You're safe now." He patted Sirius' hand in a proprietary manner.

_From the mouth of babes comes eternal wisdom…_Sirius blinked back the tears and smiled tremulously at Harry, unwilling to make the boy sadder. "I'm fine now, Harry. But you've grown so big since I last saw you!"

"Very big," the child agreed solemnly. "Aunty Anna says I grew another inch this month! That's cuz I eat my vegetables," Harry added knowingly.

_Anna. Oh dear gods and Muggles, Anna. How has she held up? My poor Anna, my poor love, I swore an Oath to protect you and when you needed me most I wasn't there. You protected me instead…_

"Harry, why don't you go and find Aro and ask for breakfast?" Snape suggested softly.

"Will Pa'foot be here when I'm finished?"

"Of course," Snape responded.

"Okay." The boy climbed down from the bed, and with great reluctance, Sirius let him go and watched as he bounced out of the room.

"He looks just like James and Lily," he murmured.

"Very much so," Snape replied. "But he's not them, Black. He's his own person and he has quite a strong personality too, might I add."

"Thank you. Thank you for everything," Sirius said earnestly, looking at Snape in the eye. "You've done more than I could ever repay you for."

Embarrassed, Snape prevaricated. "I had the Blood Oath to Anna, and she was crying herself sick over you. It was merely self-preservation. If Anna died of grief, I don't think I'd have lasted longer, and I like my life just fine without dying with the blood boiling in my veins."

Sirius knew the truth. Snape had done the impossible: he'd broken Sirius out of Azkaban undetected, and he'd done it not just for Anna's sake or his own, but for Sirius. _I owe him another life debt now, _he thought bemusedly. Years ago, back in school before that fateful summer, Sirius would have been furious at that thought. Now, it was no issue—not when he knew he'd have taken a curse for the man in any case, life debt or not. Not when he'd _already _paid off one life debt before. _The man just keeps saving my life!_ Snape was his friend—queer as that sounded, even after the years of neutral grounds and colluding to keep Anna safe.

A smart, clicking noise approached the door then, and Sirius frowned. _I might be just going crazy, but I could have sworn that that was the distinctive sound of a certain female footwear, stilettos…_the door swung open and a vision appeared. She was smiling, laughing, crying, her brunette hair in riotous curls down her back, slim in sky-blue figure-hugging robes and the telltale stilettos, and he had her in his arms and she was _real, _real and warm and gasping in his ear, elegant hands curled around his as she whispered over and over in a chant, "_I love you. I love you, Sirius Black." _

_Anna. _

An indeterminate amount of time later, Sirius found himself holding his wife snugly in his arms in bed, drawing circles on her soft golden skin, breathing in the strawberry-and-cream shampoo of her glorious hair,—_"ahem." _

Sirius jumped, but Anna only laughed and kept a tight hold on her husband's arm. "Hello, Severus."

"Glad to see you haven't forgotten me entirely," the dark man said grumpily.

"Of course not, since your presence is the only thing keeping me from jumping my husband's skinny ass right now," Anna retorted.

Snape grimaced. "I really do _not _need that image, Anna."

"Why not? I know you know how enjoyable it is, considering the parade of girls I've seen you sport at one time or another."

_Girls? How very intriguing. I'd never have expected it of Snape. _Sirius looked at Snape with interest.

"It was only two women, and they were both highly skilled Potions and Charms experts! I wanted their opinion!" Snape protested.

"They were tall, skinny, and big-chested, and they thought you were darkly handsome and charmingly mysterious," Anna said skeptically.

"That's beside the point!"

"Of course, Severus, whatever you say."

_Note to self. Let Anna handle Snape in the future. That goldfish act is really quite entertaining. _

"_If _you've finished laughing at my expense," Snape finally said with a dignified air, "I stayed to inform the both of you that you are welcome in this house for as long as you need to find your own living quarters. Black, Harry sleeps down the hall from you but he often wakes in the middle of the night, so don't go hexing everything in sight if you feel something crawling into bed with you. I am in the bedroom downstairs, or the study next to it, if you need anything."

"This is your house? Why am I in the master bedroom?" Sirius inquired, confused.

"Yes, this is my house," Snape answered patiently. "Technically, I did not put you here—I put _Anna _here, since she seems to need more space—"

"My clothes take up more room!"

"—and because you were eventually going to arrive, and Anna refused to sleep in a different room from you." Snape finished, glaring at Anna's interruption.

"Oh. Thanks for that too, I guess." Sirius glanced around the large room, decorated cozily in a warm cherry red and cream. _I didn't think I'd ever see _colors_ again. They're beautiful, _he thought, greedily drinking in the muted wood paneling of the floor, the cozy fireplace in the corner, and the picture frames hung up on the walls—photos of him, of James and Lily and Harry, of Remus, of Anna and him, even one of Snape alternately scowling at the camera and looking down with clear affection at the young boy—Harry—in his arms. _Home. _

"You're welcome. Anna, why are you here early? It's barely eleven."

"I couldn't wait anymore, I had to see Sirius," she responded. "I told Concetta to handle the Pia Speranza building for a month and only contact me in dire urgency. _Nothing _is going to interrupt our second honeymoon."

"I see. Well, not all of us have the luxury of taking a month off work, and Luigi mentioned a job for me the other day. I have a meeting with him in half an hour, so I will leave you two lovebirds to catch up." Snape nodded briskly at Sirius and Anna and strode out, closing the door behind him. For a long moment, Sirius and Anna stared at each other.

Then, Sirius cradled her delicate face in his rough, unkempt hands. "You're too good to be true," he said in an undertone.

She lifted a loving hand to grasp his hands and bring them to her lips. "I'm not too good, I'm just real," she whispered back. "And you're real too, finally, and you're here to stay. I owe Severus my life, because he gave it back to me by bringing you home."

"So do I, for his taking care of you when I couldn't. He's really changed, hasn't he? Spending two years springing me out of Azkaban, letting you and me stay here in the master bedroom without some kind of payment—I think I've rubbed off on him, love."

"Well if that's true, you've also rubbed off on me," Anna giggled, snuggling closer to Sirius. "Mmm."

"Very true, my little Slytherin," Sirius responded into Anna's hair.

"So what's all this about buildings and meetings and work?" Sirius worked a hand into the tumbling tresses, glorying in the sensation once again of running his hand through his beloved's locks.

"Oh. Well after I picked up and left Britain, I didn't have a job anymore. I quit Bardun's—you remember I was working as a junior architect for that company? Well, after Severus shook some sense into me, he got me an interview with the top building agency in Italy, and I got the job as a consultant sketch artist for ideas. My boss liked my work, and I was promoted three months ago to the position of Junior Architect Designer, with my own team and everything. The Pia Speranza is the first building we've been working on—it's to be a grand cathedral meshing the styles of the Gothic and Romantic ages, only Wizarding of course, with moving stained glass pictures and Hogwarts-like gargoyles and all. The old man wanted it as a memorial for his wife, who died a year ago. My team should be fine without me for a month though, since we've already drawn up preliminary blueprints and the main work going on right now is the construction of the foundation."

"My successful little artist." Sirius tugged at her hair playfully. "I'm so proud of all you've accomplished in so short a time."

"Severus helped out a lot," she admitted. "He was wonderful, Sirius, I've never known him to be so kind in my life. He held me when I cried and told me that everything would be okay, he let me live in his house for the past two years when I told him I didn't want to live in an empty house, and he dealt with my resurgence of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder much better than I would have ever expected, even when I was jerking him around and making his life hell. And he's brilliant with Harry."

"Should I be jealous?" Sirius joked.

Anna punched him on the shoulder. "Of course not, you dolt. Severus wouldn't do that. _I _wouldn't do that. And besides, he's made it clear he enjoys being single. He's married to his work."

"And what _does _he do? He was never really straightforward with me on that account other than it had to do with Potions."

"I don't blame him," Anna smirked. "How do you think he got me that interview with such an important guy? He's one of the top consultants of the Italian Wizarding Mafia, Sirius. He's their go-to person for anything that requires a Potions or Dark Arts expert, and they pay a lot of money for his service and secrecy. He also had a legit business—he owns a very popular apothecary that has branches in Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan, Naples, and I'm fairly certain he is a big name in black market ingredients and potions underground…he's a very rich man, our friend. He owns and rents out the entire villa here plus several other properties—he's already offered the use of any of the empty ones to us if we wish, although I prefer to look for a place of our own before thinking about taking him up on that offer. He's probably as rich as, if not richer than, the Malfoys in their heyday."

Anna laughed at Sirius' dumbfounded expression. "He's…he's certainly done well in Italy," Sirius finally stuttered.

"Mostly illegally, but then that has never mattered to Severus, and honestly, the Wizarding Mafia here are not like the Purebloods back home. I've met a couple of them. They're very polite and sincere, quite charming. They follow a strict code of honor, which restricts corruption, and there's definitely nothing like what happened to _us _here. The Mafia makes sure of that, and they make sure that the blood-mania doesn't enter Italy, since they've no mind to allow anyone to usurp their position at the top." Anna shrugged on shoulder. "They're feared, of course—not one of the Mafia would hesitate to kill, even innocents. But they've never pretended that they _don't, _and they've never lied about why they kill either—for money, for revenge, for power, never for fanaticism or entertainment. None of the people back in Britain can get to us here, especially not since we're under the protection of Severus Snape. No one would dare cross him."

Sirius pondered that. "Well, it's what Snape always wanted, isn't it? Control, power, the ability to make sure nothing that happened to him as a child will ever happen to him again, or to anyone else for that matter."

"Yes, it is," Anna agreed.

Sirius' voice dropped to a low tone. "And you, my dear? What was your dearest wish as a child?"

"I have it in my hands," Anna smiled. "I have you, love."

"And I, you," Sirius murmured, stroking his wife's head. "And I." _I'm finally home. _

**Author's Notes:**

_And thus endeth the story. There is an epilogue that will be coming shortly, but for all purposes _Suffer My Children_ has reached its last chapter. I hope you found some pleasure in my words. I know a few readers hoped for more, or more detail, but I really feel as though this story in complete but for the epilogue. More would just be redundancy, and I think it would take away from the arc and the feel of the story. Sirius has finished telling his tale, and who am I to force more from him? _

_The title for this chapter, "Time and Tide," comes from the saying "Time and tide wait for no man." As this chapter marks the passage of time in which the years go by without consent from our characters: most especially Sirius Black, who loses precious moments of his life to Azkaban (more in canon, but even so, two years is a long time to have stolen from you unfairly.) I contemplated naming this chapter "Time of My Life," which is another cliché of time as it is a phrase used when you're enjoying yourself, but I thought it might be just a tad too sarcastic for anyone but Severus._

_In unrelated news, please take a quiet moment in memory of Whitney Houston, who passed away at only 48. My teen years would be very different without her iconic ballads everywhere, and I can only hope she's in peace now (and adding her powerful voice to the angel's choir!)_


	19. Exeunt

**Disclaimer: Who, me? *_looks innocent* _I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't take anything from anyone…**

**Boy-Who-Lived Comes to Hogwarts!**

_Daniel Abbott, Special Correspondent _

_September 7, 1997_

For sixteen years, Wizarding Britain has wondered just what became of their living hero, Harry Potter. The only son of the deceased heroes of the Dark Years, Lily and James Potter, Harry has not been seen by any credible source since he was taken from the wreckage of his home by Albus Dumbledore and placed somewhere secret for his own safety.

That night, October 31, 1981, Harry Potter did the impossible and defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, surviving the Killing Curse with only a lightning-bolt shaped scar and no other evident injuries. The Wizarding World celebrated the end of the Dark Years, but little infant Potter was whisked away and not heard of again: until now.

One week ago, Harry Potter calmly waltzed in to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and announced his intention to enroll for his seventh year at the renowned boarding school in Scotland. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, said to reporters that, "I am very pleased and excited to welcome Mister Potter to Hogwarts. I think he will do very well here." Asked if he had expected, along with the rest of Britain, that Potter would attend Hogwarts from his first year, the wizard merely winked and offered lemon drops to all.

Although Potter disappointed many when he did not appear for his first year at Hogwarts, six years ago, there is no disappointment now! The Owl Postal Service reported a sky-rocketing volume of mail being delivered to the young wizard and his school-mates are all excited to attend school with the mysterious celebrity.

Potter delivered his second shock to the Wizarding World (the first being his sudden appearance the first day of a new Hogwarts term) when he was Sorted into Slytherin House!

Despite both his parents and indeed, the history of Potters being Sorted into Gryffindor House, Potter did not seem surprised as he slipped off the too-small stool and joined his new House-mates at Slytherin table. Rumored to be a House full of ambitious Dark Wizards and Witches in the making, Slytherin has had a rocky history of ups and downs. However, Potter was not displeased at his Sorting and scoffed at the idea that Slytherin was synonymous with Dark magic.

In a blanket statement issued to reporters, Potter states that he is "settling in well into Slytherin and making friends. I don't believe that you can simply type-cast an entire group of people based on the colors of their crest. Slytherin doesn't mean evil and saying that it is doesn't make it anymore true than saying that Hippogriffs are pink. This House has gotten some bad press lately. I hope to show that many, many Slytherins here have honor equal to that of a Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. Prejudice is blind, but if we take the blinkers off we can truly unite and _that _is real power, right there."

One classmate, Gryffindor Hermione Granger, already well-known for her exploits against the spirit-form You-Know-Who, is quoted as mentioning that "Potter's right about prejudice. I think it's silly how school rivalries remain and become horribly distorted into exaggerated and often _wrong _ideas." When questioned if she would make friends with the only other person of her age to surpass her own hard-earned fame for facing multiple dangers in her time at Hogwarts, Miss Granger stated that she was thrilled that there was another person willing to stand up against You-Know-Who and actively _"do something." _

House-mate Pansy Parkinson told the press that Harry Potter had so far been "wonderfully polite, chivalrous, and a perfect gentleman. We were all shocked that we got _Harry Potter, _but he's already got the entire House in stitches with his acerbic wit. And of course, all of us girls are _ab_so_lut_ely head-over-heels for the sexy wizard. He's _so _charming and handsome…"

"He covers his Slytherin side pretty well, but everyone in Slytherin knows not to mess with Potter. He's _powerful _and he's not afraid to use spells considered rather in the grey area of magic to get what he wants," another classmate who prefers to remain anonymous told me.

"Really charismatic personality, but you want to be on his good side," adds another anonymous schoolmate.

I managed to get a personal interview with the young Potter heir and we sat down to talk about life, You-Know-Who, and his plans for the future. "Italy," is his first statement to me after we introduce ourselves and sit down. "I know what you're thinking—_what is that accent? _It's an Italian accent, and I'm afraid that I'll never have a proper British accent."

So that is where he has been all these years? Italy?

Yes, he confirms. "My adoptive family resides in Italy, although for safety reasons I'm sure you can understand if I do not divulge exactly where or who they are."

Since there have been irrevocable signs that You-Know-Who is back in spirit form, this is hard to deny. I asked Mister Potter if he had enjoyed growing up so far away from his home country.

"I don't remember too much of Britain, to be honest," the young man with stunning green eyes admits cheerfully. "I was just a baby when I left the country. But from what I've seen of it so far since coming here, it seems quite a nice place."

If he didn't come to Hogwarts for his first six years, where did he go and why now?

"My adoptive family decided that there was no reason an eleven-year-old would need to be placed preemptively in danger before I was ready to take on anything scarier than a troll," Potter says with earnest humor.

"I went to Italy's premiere school for witches and wizards instead. Belladona Preparatory, it's a very good school. But Voldemort—sorry, you fellows really don't like his real name, do you?—You-Know-Who, then—he's been rising again lately. We kept an eye on the news, and I'm seventeen now and as prepared as I'll ever be to take him on."

Does he actually plan on taking You-Know-Who on? Well, yes! The young man in front of me is sincere and confident, although he refuses to divulge any of his ideas on what his plans are for this. Since the Ministry has long speculated that the rising spirit of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been on a manhunt for the Boy-Who-Lived and defeated him the first time, it seems natural that the same boy would return to finish the job.

"It wasn't even me the first time, it was my mother's willing blood sacrifice out of love for me that protected me and defeated Volde—oops, _You-Know-Who. _But this time it'll be me. I have no doubt that men or spirits like You-Know-Who are obsessed with revenge. I'm the one that got away, so he's after me still."

But why would a young man not yet out of school come running back to face the imminent danger? That is the question that I pose to the wizard who looks very much like his famous Auror father.

"Seventeen years ago, my parents fought actively against Voldemort. Now, he's rising again and doing his best to hurt people _my _age and younger. He's been systematically attacking Hogwarts since six years ago. Of course, I could simply wait it out in safety and watch this country maybe go through another period of Dark. But I won't. My adoptive family and my parents, James and Lily, would have never turned their backs on others when they could contribute to helping a good cause against a corrupt one." Potter pauses reflectively.

"Someone important told me once that corruption and fanaticism are the two worst faults of mankind, whether wizard or Muggle. I am, by virtue of what occurred seventeen years ago, a symbol of the Light here in Britain. That alone gives me the responsibility _and _the power to fight against both corruption and fanaticism here, the same exact kind that killed my parents. I was raised to honor that duty and I will not shirk it."

Courageous words and they seem fitting for the young boy hero. My time is up, and my parting words to the Boy-Who-Lived are to wish him luck, fortune, and fortitude in all his endeavors. I suspect that we may expect great things from this wizard, not just for surviving the Killing Curse and defeating a Dark Wizard so long ago, but by the very forceful and convicted personality he possesses. May Britain live up to every expectation and welcome Harry Potter back into our midst!

**Boy-Who-Lived Lives Again!: An Exclusive Interview with Britain's Newest Saviors**

_By Daniel Abott, Special Correspondent_

_June 19, 1998_

With his charming Italian lilt and hypnotizing green eyes, Harry Potter is even more of a sensation as a seventeen-year-old than a one-year-old. Britain's Wizarding nation is once again indebted to their hero: having defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as a one-year-old with only a curse scar the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead to show for it, Harry Potter found it no less hard, it seems, to hunt out and destroy the seven pieces of You-Know-Who's soul binding the man to life. _(See page 8 for the article detailing Potter's search for the Horcruxes)._

The Boy-Who-Lived then cast a Banishing Ritual, a spell no one has performed in over two centuries in Britain, to rid the world of the nuisance of You-Know-Who's spirit, around whom many former Death Eaters had been rallying around. When queried as to why he had chosen such a spell, Potter credited the initial idea to his friend Hermione Granger and the actual ritual to his adoptive family who taught it to him over Christmas Break.

An instant hit with girls across the nation, Harry Potter initially returned to his birth land for seventh year at Hogwarts after having spent all his childhood years and previous schooling in Italy. He received most of his education at Belladonna Preparatory School, Italy's premiere school for wizards and witches.

Six years after the spirit of You-Know-Who began to make trouble again, Harry Potter arrived back on his native soil to finish his schooling and kill the monster once and for all. It was the first time he had returned since he vanished as a child for his own protection and appeared sixteen years later in Italy as he revealed plans to travel back to Britain.

"Such a nice chap," one classmate gushes. "Very polite, you wouldn't have expected it of a celebrity and a Slytherin."

"He's absolutely beautiful," another adds eagerly. "He won the House Cup for Slytherin with those absolutely fabulous muscles…" Perhaps not quite accurate, but close enough as Harry Potter led Slytherin House to its first win in the House competition in over a decade by winning game after game with ease as Seeker on the Quidditch team. Fabulous muscles indeed, young Potter!

When I interviewed the boy in December, I was struck by his mix of charisma, truthfulness, and sharp wit. He caused a sensation first by being sorted into Slytherin House, long considered a breeding ground for young Dark wizards, and followed that shock by yet another: he became best friends with already famous Gryffindor Muggle-born Hermione Granger and Pureblooded Slytherin Draco Malfoy.

The unlikely but high-powered trio have been inseparable ever since and despite vast differences in culture and upbringing, continue to valiantly defend each other constantly. "We're like a three-headed dog," jokes Harry Potter. "Hermione's the idealistic head, Draco's the practical head, and I'm the attack-mode head. Separate us and we can't function on our own."

Hermione Granger is already famous for single-handedly discovering that the spirit of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned in her first year, figuring out and informing her teachers that the mysterious monster of Slytherin was a Basilisk in her second year, escaping from a werewolf in her third (and promptly turning around to defend Professor Lupin insisting that he had not been at fault for Death Eaters mysteriously finding his secure location and letting him loose, and should be allowed to retain his position at Hogwarts—and winning the petition!).

Her fourth year, Granger wandered into the Triwizard Tournament Maze before the competition began to examine the Charmwork and Arithmancy parabolas that operated the Final Task, and realized that the Cup was a Portkey. This saved both the competition and the unlucky winner who would have been transported to You-Know-Who's location and sacrificed to create a body for the spirit. (That year's Champion was Cedric Diggory from our very own Hogwarts). In year five, she campaigned successfully for Ministry-appointed Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Delores Umbridge to be removed from her Hogwarts position, citing carefully collected hard evidence of favoritism, incompetence, and sadistic and frivolous use of a restricted magical artifact, the Blood Quill, on students. During this time, she also moved to revive Hogwart's dueling club in order to keep up with the former curriculum that Umbridge had scrapped.

Granger's sixth year culminated with a bang as has been tradition for the plucky heroine since she began attending Hogwarts when a student, Asbel Rosier, cousin of the infamous Evan Rosier who has resided in Azkaban since You-Know-Who's first death, let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Granger and the Hogwarts dueling club formed a protective barrier between the Death Eaters and the younger students, and Granger's superb knowledge of spells disarmed the man who would have killed Albus Dumbledore.

Draco Malfoy, whose father Lucius Malfoy was publicly reprimanded eighteen years ago for having knowingly placed his young ward Severus Snape in the hands of Dark Wizards, has remained continually neutral throughout his years at Hogwarts, only declaring his allegiance to the Light when Potter befriended him.

"Harry's the sort of guy you want backing you up in a battle," states the young inheritor of the Malfoy estates (his father dead in a counterattack against the Death Eaters, his mother in Azkaban for conspiracy to murder Potter. _See page 4 for details_). "He knows a wicked assortment of spells, and he isn't afraid of the moral ambiguity in some of the shadier curses. He'll do anything to survive, and to win. As a fellow Slytherin, I appreciate that."

His brown-haired companion elbows him sharply, drawing a yelp from her new boyfriend (Yes, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy have finally confirmed rumors that they are now dating, although "It's nothing serious," Granger insists).

"It's a good thing these boys have me to keep them straight," Granger retorts vehemently. "They'd never be good if they didn't. Imagine!"

Is she the moral conscience of the trio?

"More like their mother," she snorts. But she gives Malfoy an adoring glance that says otherwise.

Harry Potter is scheduled to return to Italy after graduation, where he is staying in an Unplottable location with the people who have brought him up. He refuses to spill his past, but laughingly hints, "Italy is a good place for wizards and witches who want to escape their past, especially if you have very good connections."

Italy is well-known for its controlling Mafia, who regulate the borders of their country and are the true power of the country. Is young Harry affiliated with the Mafia? Perhaps; perhaps not. We may never know, although his friends Granger and Malfoy might find out. They're returning with him to Italy and staying with him while they decide what to do with their promising future.

"It's a gorgeous country," enthuses Potter, green eyes sparkling with love for his adopted home. "I can't wait to get back—I've missed it very much. I think Hermione and Draco will love it there."

Any last words from the three newest stars with whom Britain is obsessed? "Don't ever give up," advises Potter. "I know people who've gone through hell and back, and if they can do it you can too, all those people out there who may be suffering. Live for the moment, and _always _plan an escape hole!"

And the three are off, arm in arm, laughing like lunatics. The Daily Prophet and the British nation wish them all the best in a lifetime hopefully filled with joy. The three of you certainly deserve it.

**Author's Notes: **

_The chapter title for this little epilogue of a chapter, "Exeunt," is Latin meaning "They go out." (Also known as two or more people exiting). It is a common stage direction in plays. _

_And folks, this is the very end of the road. I hope you enjoyed the epilogue as a glimpse into what changed and what remained the same. I hope very much that you enjoyed this story! To those who may be wondering—I do have another short story in the works, but don't expect anything for a while. It is only in the beginning stages and I plan on writing the entire story before posting anything. Snape's there, but it's something I've never tried writing before which adds to the not-sure-when-I'll-start-posting deal. But keep an eye out. Me and this fandom are far from finished with each other! _

_Thank you to all of you who have read, all of you who have taken the time to review. Each and every one of you brings me joy. _


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